


Brightest Silence - a prequel

by Stormkrigeren



Series: Red Capes [1]
Category: DC Extended Universe, Superwoman - Fandom
Genre: AU, DC Extended Universe - Freeform, DCEU - Freeform, Deathstroke's heir, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Experimentation, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Imprisonment, Kryptonian, Original Character-centric, Prequel, Slow Build, Training, Unspoken War, What Would Have Happened To Kal-El if He Had Not Landed In Kansas?, but it happens to Darcie instead, but just this once ima go off on a tangent, but seriously tho, clark's okay i promise, explaining a characters backstory, his Kryptonian scenes are epic, i didn't know that one could know this much about bladesmithing, i swear its not as bad as the tags imply, normally I am a complete Zack Snyder stan, ya'll will never know the amount of research that went into this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 75,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26442433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormkrigeren/pseuds/Stormkrigeren
Summary: For hundreds of millennia, Krypton had been a planet of explorers, peacekeepers, and scientists - but after it’s death, only its survivors and warriors would be remembered. Survivors, who would struggle to carve out a life wherever they went, and warriors, who under a yellow sun could become dangerous weapons in the deadliest game known to mankind. Jaora Var-El would become both - but she was always a warrior first.A Red Capes Prequel that sets the stage for the events of Saviors.
Series: Red Capes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587121
Comments: 20
Kudos: 4





	1. Prologue: Milor

**Author's Note:**

> Good morning! This fic is a prequel to Red Capes: Saviors and develops the background and childhood of one of its main characters, Darcie Kent. If you read Saviors before the publication of this fic, then you will be familiar with the plot of a few of these chapters, but the story itself has nearly doubled in size. Thanks to my amazing beta, I will hopefully be updating this fic once a week on Saturdays, though don't be surprised if I go on brief hiatuses (my personal life is a little insane rn as I just moved countries + started another school year + am still living out of a suitcase/my car), but I will continue to write every day! Please enjoy this fic - leave comments and kudos if you loved it, they really help!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The word 'milor' comes from MoS Kryptonian, a dialect of the Kryptonian language that was created specifically for the DCEU. It can be simply translated as 'hope'.

“Hope,” he muttered under his breath, “Rao, nothing but hope.”

“Eminence Var-El? Is all well with you?”

Var glanced at Kelir, his faithful assistant, hovering patiently beside him, and nodded slowly. “All is well, Kelir. Just… thinking.”

Kelir’s liquid-geo display panel flickered understandingly and a small smile crossed Var’s face at the thought that the hovering artificial intelligence could possibly have feelings, but he immediately dismissed the idea and returned his attention to the console in front of him. 

“Now is not a time for thinking, but for action,” he told himself before addressing his fellow thinkers focused on the task before them, “Ak, Em - status report on the World Engine.”

Two Kryptonians at similar consoles nearby nodded and tapped the levitating figures of the liquid-geo, reading the incoming data as it appeared. 

“The Phantom Reactor is powering up. We are currently at twelve percent efficiency,” Mu-Ak stated.

Var grimaced at the number and did a quick mental calculation before asking, “Are the stellar charges operating?”

“Negative, Your Eminence.”

Var swore under his breath, knowing full well that as an Eminence he was supposed to be a perfect example in the Twelve Virtues and not given to low profanities, but at this point, he no longer cared. Too much was at stake here, too much had gone wrong, and too little was being done to repair their way of life. He gazed out the wide window opposite his control console at the vast gray expanse of the macro-moon, the only home he had ever known and completely empty besides the Kryptonian settlement and monstrous three-legged machine on its surface - the machine that had once changed worlds. He desperately needed it to change his now, but those damned stellar charges-

“Now it is at ten percent efficiency. If we do not get it working now, we will lose all power,” Thyr-Em was saying, but Var didn’t hear him. Kelir, his companion ever since he could walk, recognized the distant look in his eyes and tapped his shoulder with one of its tentacles until Var looked up.

“Kelir, how many subcycles will it take to charge it to operation?”

“Two-hundred-three-point-nil-nil-nil-nine-eight, at its current rate,” the aide calculated instantly, “But the power levels of the reactor will be depleted before it can charge fully,”

Var nodded soberly and ran a hand through his dark hair, dimly registering that the strands were grimy after days without sleep or cleansing while he worked to repair the World Engine.

“I thought so,” he sighed tiredly, and entered a few commands into the console in front of him, “Connect the energy generators. They should maintain a steady power level until we can possibly repair the stellar charges-”

“Var!” a woman’s voice rang out across the research chamber. He turned to see Lieutenant Tara Lin-Do, the sister of his beloved, burst into the room with her short hair ruffled and casual armor slightly askew from running so quickly.

“What is it?” the Eminence asked quickly, but he could easily guess. 

“It’s Kara,” she confirmed, “The baby is coming.”

Var immediately stood a little straighter and put his shoulders back in true Eminence fashion as he descended from the command module, barely suppressing his excitement with a mask of cold formality as he moved past Tara for the door.

“Do not let the power levels fall! I will return!” he told his assistants as he hastily left the chamber with Tara at his side. It was only when he heard the door grate shut behind them that Var threw all etiquette to the wind and broke into a sprint.

He knew the outpost well, having lived his entire life there - though perhaps ‘outpost’ was the wrong word now considering how the ancient community was barely surviving.

Many cycles long ago, a scout ship from the mother planet Krypton had settled on the rocky macro-moon in search of the rich ore beneath its surface, which had been a valuable resource at the time. But as cycles passed, the mines had been abandoned due to the lack of supply ships from Krypton and the moon’s inability to sustain crops, eventually leading to famine. The outpost’s population had dwindled to just a few thousand, and until a few cycles ago had continued to grow more children of Krypton in the Genesis Chambers before the Council was forced to prohibit new Kryptonians until there were enough resources to provide for all of them.

Var and his beloved Kara had been among the last children to live on the outpost, and now Var was an Eminence on the Council he believed had doomed his small world. Their only hope for survival lay with either the supply ships Krypton had promised cycles ago, or the revival of the World Engine. As leader of the Thinker Guild, Var considered his life’s purpose to have the great machine operating again - but now he had more pressing matters on his mind: the matter of his child.

Var-El rushed along the main corridor of the old outpost with Kelir floating quickly beside him, but Tara, a trained lieutenant of the military peacekeepers, was much quicker and led the way towards the south branch that housed the personal living units. The route took them through the more populated areas of the outpost, where the trio passed surprised members of the small community who shook their heads in condolence and contempt for the Eminence of the Thinker Guild, but Var paid them no heed. Eventually, he slowed as he caught up to Tara and neared the unit that he and his beloved shared, quickly locating his Key in the folds of his robe and pausing in thought before the door. He hesitated only a brief moment before inserting the Key into the small port beside the doorway, the barrier folding upwards to allow him and the Lieutenant entrance. In an instant, he had crossed through the small living space and nearly forced open the door to the resting chamber, his quick eyes immediately taking in the scene.

Tara’s aide had taken up the duty of midwife, a job the medic droid was well suited to considering its knowledge of emergency treatments. And beside the aide, laying on the bed that had more than once belonged to both Var and herself, was his Kara - his strong, beloved, Lieutenant Kara Ar-Do - her usually stoic and commanding visage now pale and dotted with perspiration, but she still managed a weak smile when Var knelt down beside her.

“Kara,” he begged softly, grasping her hand in his, “Are you all right? Is there anything I can do?”

She shook her head, fighting back a pained grimace. “Do not worry about me, Var. You shouldn’t be here - if anyone discovers that you were in my quarters-”

“Hush, I am staying with you. The Council may be stubborn, but they would not convict a fellow Eminence for simply attending the birth of his child,” he assured her, gently stroking her hand as he did. Kara shot him a look that he knew all too well, the look she used when Var was in over his head, but she was too exhausted to argue the point with him.

Secretly glad for that, Var turned away from his beloved, seeking out Tara who had taken up a position near her aide in case her assistance was required. He caught her eye, lowering his voice as he asked, “Why wasn’t I summoned when the contractions first began?”

“I had been on duty,” Tara answered in an equally soft tone, “My aide was with her and managed to remove her to our quarters before any of the medics found out, but I came to fetch you as soon as I heard the news.”

Var frowned, but nodded solemnly and squeezed Kara's hand in his as she cried out when another contraction wracked her weak body, stroking her brown locks from her forehead as she pushed again. Kelir and Tara’s aide remained close by, monitoring the vitals of the mother and unborn child while a three-dimensional display in Kelir’s thorax displayed a representation of the mother’s heart, increasing in speed as she struggled to bring life into the world. Var could only watch as his dearest trembled in pain as he knelt by her side. He had no knowledge of time passing, only the occasional lull in her agony before she cried out again, and he would continue to reassure her with tender promises.

This had not been planned, she was not meant to have to endure childbirth. The Ar-Do sisters were the pride of the Warrior Guild, their fate determined before birth - Kara had been bred for strength and obedience and battle, not the pain of motherhood. Deep down, Var knew that he was at least partly responsible for what she was going through, but neither had considered it at the time - neither of them had even thought it possible. Yet here they were with Kara mere moments away from giving birth to the product of their love.

Her brow grew paler, her skin slick with sweat and she groaned as another excruciating pang wracked her weak body, squeezing Var’s hand all the tighter for what little strength it gave her. Each moment that passed felt like it stretched on for an eternity until, but both Var and the aide continued to assure her that it would all be over soon. Kara barely heard them, striving as hard she could and begging Rao for it to be over, before she let out a final agonized scream… followed by the healthy wail of an infant.

Var hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until he heard Tara sigh in relief as she picked up the child, carefully allowing the aides to confirm that its heart and breathing were steady. The vitals were normal, so Tara gently wrapped the child in a blanket and handed it to the waiting Var with a proud smile. “A female.”

He felt a minor twinge of annoyance that his offspring wasn’t a male, but he pushed the thought aside to grin in awesome wonder at the thing that was the miracle of birth, his eyes full of joy and adoration for his beloved Kara as he knelt beside her. She was still weak from the ordeal, so he helped her to lift her head and see the infant’s small face with its shock of dark hair. Startlingly blue eyes stared back at them as their child let out another soft bawl.

Kara sighed in contentment, her chest heaving from exertion, but she smiled all the same for her baby. Raising a trembling hand, she placed it on her child’s head with the words, “Jaora, daughter of El and Do - the Thinker and the Warrior together as one.”

“A Thinker and a Warrior,” Var repeated softly, and Tara smiled.

“A wonderful name, sister. I wish you and your family Rao’s blessings despite the… circumstances.”

Kara looked up from her child to return her sister’s gaze with a cold look, but her voice held warmth as she replied, “Thank you, Tara. Your patience and care have been invaluable in these past cycles. You have my gratitude.”

Lieutenant Tara simply nodded, taking the hint that the new parents would rather be alone, and turned to leave with her aide following close behind. Only when she heard the grate of the door closing did Kara relax back onto the birthing couch, accepting her offspring as Var passed the child to her.

“You did well, beloved,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss his partner as she stroked Jaora’s head resting on her bosom, and Kara managed a small smile at his affection before quickly sobering.

“Are you sure the Council will allow us to keep her, considering-”

“Hush, dearest. Of course they will,” Var assured her. “Rest now, you need to recover your strength.”

Kara was too drained to argue, so she obeyed and relaxed back onto the birthing couch with a low sigh as her eyes drifted closed. Var stayed by her side a while longer, holding her slender hand grasped in his and quietly thinking of what the beautiful future held for him and his family. He was interrupted by the whirring of hovermotors nearby, and with an annoyed sigh, he stood up and addressed Kelir hovering close by with a frown, “Do you have something that requires my attention?”

The aide paused as if in thought before answering, “I am not programmed with extensive knowledge of natural childbirth.”

“What of it?” Var snapped impatiently, “The child is born. All is well.”

“Kara Lin-Do’s vital signs have plummeted over the last few days and became dangerously weak during labor, exhausting her body to the point of no return,” Kelir replied simply. “She passed unto Rao a few moments ago.”

The words took a moment to register in Var’s mind before he fully comprehended what the aide was telling him. He blinked, turning slowly to look down at his lover, her eyes closed as if asleep with one hand on the infant bawling softly on her chest - but somehow she looked different. The majesty he saw in her had faded, her vibrant spirit gone and leaving her pale and lifeless. He felt the same without her love to strengthen him.

Var stood as if frozen in place, unmoving, his face emotionless except for the small spark in his eyes showing the strength of his devastation. Kelir had known its master since infancy and had never seen him so grieved. Or so enraged.

“Kara is gone,” he said simply, staring down at his deceased lover in some fragile hope that she’d prove him wrong, but to no avail. Kelir’s liquid-geo display rippled in sympathy, but he only waved the aide away.

“Murder is punishable by death,” he said slowly, unable to tear his gaze away from his beloved Kara and his voice dripping with menace, “The child killed her.”

The aide started in surprise as he removed a personal blaster hidden within the folds of his robe, his hands trembling as he aimed it at the babe, “The child killed her. So it must die as well.”

Jaora’s blue eyes widened at the angry voice, the newborn weakly searching for her mother’s protection as she began to cry. Kelir moved between her and the vengeful father, trying to placate him before he did something regrettable. “Var, it is no fault of the child! Lieutenant Kara Lin-Do died from-“

Kelir’s words were lost in an explosion of sparks and searing hot metal, shrapnel flying from the impact of the blast. Jaora cried out as a piece barely missed her head and another sliced across her arm, but Var did not move to quiet her beyond lowering his smoking blaster.

He stared down at the smoking remains of his faithful aide, his furious gaze flitting back to Kara and the bawling infant on her chest before he softened. With one hand, he cocked the blaster for a second shot, and his daughter opened her small eyes in time to see him raise it to his head…

…and pull the trigger.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Lieutenant Tara headed the small group that entered the room, stepping warily around the blood pooling on the floor as they stared at the scene before them in horror - the chamber silent except for the weak wail of an infant from the birthing couch.

One of the older Kryptonians moved around Eminence Var’s headless body to the mother’s motionless form, gently freeing the child from the folds of the blanket before carrying it back to the dumbstruck group. Wordlessly, he handed Jaora to her aunt before leaving, shaking his head in pity.

The rest soon followed him, escaping the stench that lingered there as Tara looked down at her sister’s daughter and gently stroked the infant’s cheek with her thumb to distract her from the pain of the bloody gash scarring her left arm, and to distract herself from the pain of her loss. Jaora ceased her crying long enough to grab the finger with a strong little hand, and Tara managed a smile through her tears before fleeing the death-stricken chamber with the child in her arms.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Ama-Mer looked over the crowd gathered in the Council Hall, her formal robes rustling as she stood up from her seat on the dais. All eyes turned to her as the head of the Laborer Guild raised her hand to silence any whisperers before she began to speak.

“This Council is now in session,” she announced, her voice echoing throughout the ancient chamber and she paused a moment before continuing. “I would like to open by announcing that I and my fellow Council members are severely grieved by the death of our fellow Eminence and head of the Thinker Guild, Eminence Var-El, and of Lieutenant Kara Lin-Do. May Rao accept their souls.”

Ama waited as the crowd repeated the blessing in murmured agreement, a few bowing their heads in a moment of reverence for the deceased. Lieutenant Tara was among them, a blanketed bundle in her arms that she hushed occasionally - though the infant Jaora was half-asleep and completely silent despite the pain of her bandaged arm. 

Ama carried on with her speech, “Long ago, this Council put up laws against natural procreation and procreation of offspring without a partner under Rao’s blessing. For cycles, these laws have protected and prospered us. Yet despite the laws in place and the simple truth that Var was not joined with any partner under Rao, he still left this existence with a child. Some of you have called to our attention the disadvantages of allowing such a child to exist. After much consideration, this Council has decided to let Jaora Var-El continue to live as punishing innocence with death is a devastating crime in itself.”

There was a murmur of disbelief, even righteous fury among the listeners that Eminence El would dare to break laws they held in such high esteem. But Res-Lor, the ancient head of the Mediator Guild, quieted then with a wave of his hand before inclining his head towards Ama, “The supply situation, Eminence Mer.”

“Yes, the supplies,” she nodded in agreement, turning back to her audience, “I am sure that most of you are aware that we have less than the usual amount in our food stores, but there is no need to be alarmed. We must only ration once more ou-“

“Do not lie, Ama!” For-Ul protested.

All eyes turned to stare at the frowning Warrior Guild commander. His brow darkened in a grimace as he rose from his seat on the dais to indicate the crowd, “These people deserve the truth and nothing but the truth. We are nearly out of food! Eminence El, may his soul rest with Rao, was working to repair the World Engine so that we might revive this desolate moon and grow crops. But with his death, we have lost much of his research on the matter. - it may take us years to have the World Engine operational again. We do not have years. Unless another solution can be found, we may have to resort to drastic measures.”

There was a general gasp of disbelief and a few shouts of anger from the audience, and Tara tried not to be jostled by the uneasy movement of those around her. She clutched Jaora closer and hummed soothingly to distract herself from the horror of what Eminence Ul was suggesting, but she had known for a long time that the food would run out eventually. Still, the plain truth had caused a disturbance in the crowd and Res-Lor raised his voice to quiet them, “Listen, my children. There is no need to panic. Rao will-“

“Rao cannot help us, old one!” a man shouted, “A god that does not exist can help none!”

The throng froze to stare at the disbeliever, a few stepping quickly away from a man in battle armor bearing the crest of the House of Zar as if to distance themselves from what he was suggesting. He moved towards the dais, the crowd parting in fear to let him through - never in so many years had anyone dared to deny Rao, the wrath of the Great Provider too dangerous to incur.

“No one will help us in our hour of need, much less Rao!” the man spat as he mounted the steps of the dais, glaring menacingly at Res-Lor, “We are better off leaving this stinking outpost than to die cowardly in here!”

For-Ul stepped towards his soldier, attempting to turn away the aggressor, “Heks, what is the meaning of this? Get down!”

“Peace, For-Ul,” Saola-Nu, head of the Artisan Guild said calmly, speaking for the first time, “We are a Council. We listen to all Kryptonians’ thoughts and suggestions. You may proceed, Heks-Zar.”

Heks nodded to her in thanks before turning to the rest of the council, “For hundreds of cycles we have waited on Krypton to send aid and supplies, but to what avail? Do you not understand? Krypton has abandoned us! You are fools to believe otherwise!” he scorned, “And fools deserve no food.”

The Sapphire Guards standing expectantly nearby finally moved to dispel him, but stood down at a signal from For-Ul as the rest of the council watched Heks grimly. There was a long pause before Ama-Mer spoke up again, “This… is a delicate matter. I believe we will need more time to discuss-“

“Cowards!” Heks roared, pulling a blaster from his holster and promptly taking Ama’s life. The shot echoed through the chamber and little Jaora tensed in her guardian’s arms at the sound. For a brief moment, silence reigned, all eyes drawn to Heks, before someone screamed.

Chaos broke loose and the Sapphire Guards fought to remain in control of the situation, trying to calm the crowd while simultaneously attempting to arrest Heks-Zar. The madman only laughed harshly from atop the dais, casually removing For-Ul and a Sapphire Guard from existence as they moved towards him.

People swarmed out of the room, fleeing the wrath of the furious blasphemer. Tara was among them, but having been so close to the dais had trapped her at the rear end of the throng.

The infant in her arms threatened to cry as Tara held her closer, and the lieutenant felt someone grab her arm before pulling her sharply into an alcove away from the fleeing crowd. She managed a small shriek of horror before Heks silenced her with his gauntleted hand over her mouth, looking her over with a glare of approval before he smiled grimly, “The bastard will have to go, but you will make a suitable mate.”

Heks removed his hand from her mouth as if to grab his blaster again, but Tara took advantage of the moment and screamed, hoping to gain the attention of the Sapphire Guards, before Heks cut off her cry for help by slapping her across the face.

“Enough of that!” he growled, “Scream again and I will kill the bastard!”

A concealed metallic dagger shot out to protrude from the gauntlet, forming a deadly weapon over his knuckles which he pointed at the infant in her arms. Jaora reached out to touch it, unafraid of the shiny thing, but Tara was horrified.

“Please, I will go with you, just let me give her to-“

Another shout rang out on the far side of the room, catching Heks’ attention, and Tara did not hesitate to wrench herself from his grip and run for the nearest passageway.

She could hear him chasing after her, but she was light and swift on her feet, only hindered by the child clutched in her arms while Heks was weighed down by his armor. Even so, he was catching up.

Tara grasped Jaora close, searching for an escape from the madman. A sigil on the entrance arch above alerted her that she was entering the branch of the outpost that housed the Thinker Guild, but with each gasping breath, she knew there would be no one there to help her as nearly the entire population had been at the Council session to mourn their fallen Eminence.

A robotic aide hovered from around the corner and Tara recognized it as belonging to Thinker Thyr-Em, it’s sensors immediately taking in and assessing the situation.

“Lieutenant Lin-Do! This way!” it directed her, unlocking a nearby door and she rushed through it into an indoor docking bay. The aide followed her, locking the entryway just as Heks reached it, and the blasphemer banged his fists on the solid door, demanding to be let in.

“Is everything all right?” the aide asked, turning to her, and Tara gave it a hard look before shaking her head.

“Heks-Zar murdered Eminence Mer and Eminence Ul, I believe. It all happened so fast, then he was chasing me and-“

Tara paused to tuck a loose auburn strand behind her ear to hide how shaken the encounter had left her, mentally berating herself for letting such weakness show. She was a lieutenant, damnit - a revered soldier in the ranks of her outpost’s peacekeeping force, and no true warrior of Krypton should ever be given to any form of weakness, no matter how small.

With that thought, she brushed her panic aside and forced herself to smile reassuringly down at Jaora - who besides looking a little rumpled from her caretaker’s brush with death was now silently watching the new surroundings with mild curiosity. Comforted that her charge was unhurt, Tara turned back to the aide, automatically falling back on the tactical instincts the warrior class was bred for, “We need to alert the Sapphire Guard to Zar’s location before he-“

“I will kill it! I swear, I will kill that reprobate of a Kryptonian!” Heks roared from the other side of the door. Tara inwardly shuddered and once again had to force herself to carry on, looking around for any possible means of escape. The only other way out of the indoor docking bay was through the penetrable gravity shields that provided a sort of barrier against the harsh atmosphere outside, which after the loss of the World Engine had gradually become more and more inhospitable. Tara knew the air out there would sustain her long enough to reach another entrance back into the outpost, but the infant’s small lungs would collapse within minutes. It was too great of a risk.

There was a speed-class dropship hovering sedately in the center of the room, not unlike the small ones in the Main Port of the outpost occasionally used for short flights and designed to be more compact than their heavy carrier-class counterparts, but the one Tara saw here appeared to have been modified. Stepping towards it, she shifted Jaora to her other arm and ignored Heks persistent oaths as she eyed the strange engine, an idea forming in her mind. Thyr-Em’s aide had managed to open a communications module and was attempting to establish a connection with the Sapphire Guard when Tara spoke up, “Can we use this?”

The aide’s liquid-geo display flickered as its sensors glanced at the ship.

“It is a phantom-drive dropship, modified by Eminence El to travel through space for remote delivery of cargo,” it explained, “An older project - it was never fully completed or tested. The phantom-drive takes up a majority of the pressurized space, but you and the infant could fit…”

The aide paused and seemed to droop slightly in its hover, “No, it is incomplete. The life-support systems were only designed for non-sentients, with minimum heating and atmospheric compensation. You would not get very far before you suffocated.”

There was a sudden silence as Heks pounding ceased, both the aide and Tara turning to gaze at the doorway suspiciously. The blasphemer could be heard muttering and his armor shifting on the other side when a small, red circle of hot metal appeared on the door. Tara recognized it immediately, nearly tripping in her haste to move away from the entryway, and Jaora let out a small cry at her aunt’s distress. Heks-Zar, armed with his plasma firearm, had the capability of melting through the door, undoubtedly breaking through to keep his word in murdering the infant. Though now that Tara considered it, death from Heks-Zar would only be a result of the inevitable.

The child in her arms was already hated by many for reasons that could never be her fault - and if not Heks, some other Kryptonian might choose to end her life. Then there was the problem of the diminishing supplies, promising slow starvation for everyone, not just Jaora. There were so many odds stacked against the small child, so much that would do anything to take away the spark of life that breathed within her. Despite how much she denied it, deep down Tara knew the girl would not live to see her first cycle. And there was nothing she could do but give her a chance.

“You said the ship was designed with minimal life-support, as in it is not compatible with an _adult_ ,” she spoke up, addressing the aide.

“That is true, Lieutenant Lin-Do,” it replied.

“What about a child?”

The robotic assistant paused at the console, turning slightly to face her.

“It would be a great risk, but with proper modifications to the atmospheric scrubbers and heating, it would be possible-“

“Ready the ship immediately,” Tara commanded, “Make whatever modifications necessary before charting a course for the nearest inhabited planet in our archives - and for Telle’s sake, open the damn cockpit!”

The aide hesitated only a moment before springing into action, removing a Command Key adorned with the insignia of the House of El from a nearby console and passing it to Tara before hurrying off to find the necessary materials.

Tara moved to the forefront of the small ship, finding the command panel where the main weapon port would have resided on a traditional dropship, but was now replaced by a makeshift bay door up into the helm. With a tap of her finger, the panel slid back to reveal a Key port - a small shield-shaped hole glowing expectantly, and it hummed as Tara partially inserted the Command Key.

The bay door opened as the aide appeared beside her, a few odd mechanisms and containers she did not recognize gathered in its tentacles, but she had no time to question their purpose as the aide immediately got to work modifying the atmospheric system within, and Tara climbed up after it.

It had been right - the space was extremely limited, barely enough for a seat and the steering console, but all that mattered was that it was enough for its precious passenger.

Tara removed her outer robe, clutching the child to her chest as she formed the garment into a small nest in the captain’s seat. Humming soothingly, she laid Jaora down on the improvised bed, stroking the infant’s cheek as she tucked her blanket up around her. Her niece moaned at being set down and threatened to cry, but something in her aunt’s face made her keep silent and she only let out a small mewl as her aunt turned to leave. A pang of reluctance made her pause, taking a moment to leave a light kiss on the babe’s forehead before quickly departing the small ship through the bay door below.

Tara took a deep breath, trying to ignore the growing line of molten metal forming on the door to the docking bay as she watched Officer Em’s aide insert the last of a few sheets of exhalation filters.

“Is the passenger ready?” it asked, and Tara managed to nod before pressing the Command Key into the port completely, the panel covering it sliding back into place automatically.

The engines began to drone in response, glowing blue with the power of the phantom drive as the aide moved to a liquid-geo control panel against one wall of the docking bay, manipulating one of the hovering silver orbs to power up the ship. Tara stepped back as the engines hummed louder and the bay door began to slide shut with a low hiss. The last she saw of her sister’s child was Jaora’s stormy blue eyes shining in the light of the phantom drive.

“Destination set for inhabited planet Sol-Daemao,” the aide alerted her, “Preparing for launch now, Lieutenant Lin-Do.”

She nodded wordlessly and watched as the craft hovered above the docking bay floor. Heks was kicking at the door now, shouting incoherently as the sound of the engines drowned out his voice and the ship rose in the air.

Turning its dark nose towards the flat expanse of gray rocks and dust that formed their vast macro-moon, the ship hovered through the docking bay’s gravity shields before Thyr-Em’s aide entered a final command into the control console. The craft’s engines flared a bright, spectral blue as it sped across the lifeless desert, building up velocity to launch itself into the black void above.

Tara watched with bated breath as it struggled to clear the thin atmosphere, shakily escaping into the ocean of space before it finally managed to steady its course. It seemed so delicate soaring through the dark sky, faint among the shining stars, until the phantom drive finally kicked in and the small ship along with its lone passenger disappeared in a flash of light.

Tara allowed herself a momentary smile at the victory, before turning back to the docking bay to watch as Heks broke through with a mighty roar.

“Tara Lin-Do!” he bellowed furiously, swatting aside the aide’s attempts to halt him. She took a deep breath to steady herself and faced him only to be shoved to the ground with a blow from his smoking blaster. Tara cried out in pain, her arm bleeding through a tear in her thin casual armor as she struggled to crawl away from the madman. She grimaced as Heks grabbed her arm and pulled her violently to her feet, deep hatred darkening her gaze. He ignored the look, his grip on her tightening as he noticed the absence of the child.

“Where is it?” he growled low in his throat, cocking the firearm at his side “Where is the bastard spawn of El?!”

Tara lifted her chin defiantly, hope shining in her eyes as she answered, “She is far from here, free from our fate.”

Heks snarled at the act of courage, raising his blaster again.

“You are an insolent woman, but I will soon beat that out- Aughhhh!”

Thyr-Em’s aide had its tentacles wrapped around the blasphemer’s shooting arm, disarming him with a shock of plasma energy just as Sapphire Guards stormed in through the hole carved in the door.

“Heks-Zar!” one shouted, leveling their staff to his throat, “By the order of Eminence Res-Lor, you are under arrest for murder and high treason!”

Tara was roughly released as Heks was forced into relinquishing his blaster and his victim before her tormentor was quickly shackled by the Guard. Still somewhat in shock over the whole situation, she could only watch as he was dragged from the indoor docking bay, shouting blasphemies at his captors. She ignored the remaining Guard questioning Thyr-Em’s robotic aide, not making any attempts to speak to them knowing that they would come to question her soon, and instead took a deep breath to calm her pounding heart as she turned to look back at the black sky where Jaora had vanished.

“Forgive me, Kara,” she murmured, “I pray to Rao they will accept her.”

She turned to follow the Sapphire Guards out of the docking bay, ignorant to the flash of light in the dark expanse above the moon as a large ship appeared, still glowing from the effects of its phantom drive. It’s markings identified it as the _Black Zero_.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

The outpost was cold and silent, void of the usual sounds of life.

Inside, a body was slumped up against the curved wall of the South Passage, a blackened and bloody gash where his stomach should have been. More limp forms littered the floor, fallen in grotesque positions as they died and their lifeblood pooled on the burnished pewter floor, the crowds of dead growing in numbers towards the Council Chamber. The stench of death filled the room as the corpses began to rot, their souls already ascending to meet Rao. Except one.

Res-Lor lay on the dais beside his Council throne, a gaping wound cut through his robes to his chest while another injury bled on his forehead. His breaths were labored and far between as the ancient Kryptonian’s lungs failed him. He murmured incoherently to himself, looking out over the carnage of his beloved home, before taking a final shuddering breath as the light left his eyes.

“Degenerate bloodlines,” he repeated thoughtfully, and all was still.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Res-Lor's final words are a reference to Man of Steel, specifically Zod's entrance into the Council Room when he begins his coup and speaks to Jor-El about starting afresh. Zod believes that the reason for Krypton's demise was years of inbreeding and 'degenerative bloodlines', so one of the main tasks of his coup is to cut down any degenerative citizens to ensure the stronger and purer Kryptonians' survival. Faora briefly makes mention of this during her fight with Kal-El in the IHOP where she points out that as a member of the Warrior Guild, she was bred to have a specific personality that would be most beneficial to the Warrior Guild as a whole. Zod is the same way, bred for one purpose (also mentioned during the Battle of Metropolis) and without his purpose, he has nothing left. His purpose at the time of Krypton's demise is the same one he brought with him to Earth and the same one that started the coup - to ensure the survival of the purest bloodlines, which the members of Jaora's outpost are not. (And if you're wondering, Kal-El is not technically pure because he was a natural birth.)
> 
> This is actually a really neat and in-depth subject in the MoS fandom, centered around Krypton's evolutionary culture. I'd love to write something about it on my Tumblr to give a better analysis of it and when I do, I'll be sure to provide a link here.


	2. Storm

The clouds were dark and heavy over the mountains, obscuring any golden rays the setting sun might have cast. A light rain seeped down through the hills to muddy the dirt road and somewhere in the distance a roll of thunder signaled the approaching tempest.

Alexander Luthor looked up at the storm thoughtfully through the passenger window of the jeep and ignored the constant jostling he received from the rough dirt track. His driver swore in Norwegian as he swerved to avoid a muddy pothole, glancing through the back window to check how his trailer of ATVs was holding up. A few more heavy vehicles followed behind, transporting men and goods back to civilization.

It was a four-hour drive back to Alta from the LexCorp oil drill deep in the northern Kjølen Mountains - if the weather was good and the roads dry, but the rain and mud would slow them even further. Lionel secretly hated every bumpy moment of it, but he kept a good face, asking all the right questions and saying all the right things. The drill had finally completed all of the initial safety checks and was expected to reach its target spring sometime in early September, but by then Lionel would be back in blessed America with his son and protege. Now all that was required of him was to sign a few checks and contracts, say a word or two to the presses, and return home. Yet the moment he saw the soaring speck of light through an opening in the gray clouds, he knew he might have to add just one more thing to that list.

He watched it grow steadily brighter and it was joined by a distant rumbling that became louder with each passing moment. The driver paused, thinking it was thunder, but no lightning split the sky and the sound continued on far too long. He slowed down and looked out the windshield over the hood for signs of smoke, but his vehicle was not the cause of the noise.

Luthor gazed silently out the window at the ever-shining blaze descending through the clouds and signaled for his driver to stop. Stepping out of the truck into the rain, more men from the other vehicles in the caravan followed his example, all watching the same bright light through the coming storm that was now many times the size of any normal star and thundering like a freight train. It flew across the twilight sky, angling towards the east before impacting in the low mountains and the thundering ended with a low boom from the collision.

Alexander sipped at his thermos of coffee, his eyes never leaving the spot where the star had fallen. His men all watched him expectantly, waiting for orders until he finally called for Erik to unload the ATVs and calculate the distance to the impact.

Within twenty minutes a group of six men headed east, Alexander driving at the head. The terrain was even more treacherous than the road had been, wet and muddy in the downpour, but they continued steadily onward. After a few hours of rough elk paths and bushwhacking in the hard rain as night descended, he could see the crater in the distance, wisps of steam and smoke rising from the hole. Approaching the desolate clearing, he stopped his vehicle and dismounted, slowly approaching the edge of the star-hewn caldera before looking down into it.

He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I promise that not all of the chapters are this length - most are about 2.5 - 3k, this is just a snapshot)


	3. The Game Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, so I've been stuck in a car for the past week and honestly have no idea what day it is, but writer's instincts kicked in and said that I had to publish today because its the first of the month (I usually update Red Capes: Saviors every 1st and 16th), and since I had something ready, I went ahead and did so. Two hours later I suddenly remembered that it's actually Thursday, not Saturday, and I wasn't supposed to upload 'til the weekend - but it's already up, so ya'll can have it! Enjoy!  
> I will be uploading on Saturday of next week!

It took nearly two days to crack open the ship's impervious shell.

The entire situation was kept very hush-hush, not even being revealed to the Norwegian government at the time - at least until Alexander had properly claimed his discovery and reaped the profits. Of course, a few people would have to know about what had been found deep in the northern mountains - the workers excavating the site, researchers documenting the find, some government officials making sure the ship remained in Luthor's custody - but all dutifully kept their mouths shut tight when threatened or bribed. Despite the secrecy of the operation, there was no doubt in anyone's mind of the large craft's origins. Some had even seen the light in the sky the day it arrived, but beyond what direction it had come from, only one other thing was certain: whatever it was, it now belonged to Herr Luthor.

The ship in the crater was jokingly referred to as 'the monolith' due to its dark, reflective hull and stubborn refusal to reveal its secrets despite being examined thoroughly by as many supposed experts Luthor could find. They couldn't discover much besides confirming that a) it came from the stars, b) it was designed to travel quickly, possibly even at FTLS, and c) it had barely survived the trip.

'Where did it come from' and 'Why is it here' where questions always on everyone's' lips - 'up there' and 'far away' were the only answers to the former, and the latter - besides a few bad jokes about the 'monolith' ushering in a new age of human evolution (which years later would turn out to be correct, in its own sense) - remained a well-kept secret until the starship finally opened.

The most-favored theory for what the ship might contain was that it held a message - a greeting from the stars, the alien equivalent or reply to the _Voyagers_ ' Golden Record. If not that, then maybe it held a gift, such as technology or medicine or some other ground-breaking present. The idea of some sort of extraterrestrial _creature_ lurking beyond the thick hull was an ever-present thought at the site of the crash. If there was something alive in there, was it intelligent? What did it look like? If it proved dangerous, would it have to be killed? Would it even be capable of surviving on Earth?

The question was finally answered nearly forty-eight hours after the craft had landed, in the early morning of the second day since Luthor had sworn not to leave the site until he knew what was inside. A researcher documenting the dimensions of the ship discovered what was possibly an emergency hatch near the forefront, just below where the cockpit was assumed to be. It appeared to be a later addition to the ship, crudely crafted in comparison to the rest of the sleek, naturalistic design, but it did the job of a door by staying thoroughly shut. One of the Norwegian excavators had the idea to go at it with an axe, which Luthor shut down immediately (right before promptly firing the man) and decided instead to force the hatch inwards with a hydraulic jack. A few hours of light snowfall, repeated attempts, freezing wind, and multiple replacement jacks later, the hatch finally gave way.

In the confined space of the cockpit, their efforts were rewarded not with an alien gift or message, but with an alien itself. An infant extraterrestrial - scarred, malnourished, barely breathing, and utterly alone, yet surprisingly human in appearance with its dark hair and blue eyes. There was no sign of any other creatures having ever occupied the ship besides the ornate alien robe the babe had been swaddled in on the captain's seat, likely one belonging to her parent or caretaker.

Once Luthor had gotten over the joyous realization that he _had the first confirmed extraterrestrial in his possession_ , he was extremely disappointed that the creature was far too young to have any significant knowledge of alien races to impart to humanity, not to mention was already on the verge of death. Nonetheless, Alexander understood the importance of the monumental discovery, even if the gift-and/or-message from the stars had arrived in the form of an infant child. If it didn't live long enough to prove useful, it's ship and corpse would do.

The process of quietly removing his findings back to his lab in America went smoothly after Luthor managed to bribe a few high-ups to keep the shipment under wraps, and an esteemed doctor to make sure the child survived long enough to be thoroughly studied. 'Stormkrigeren', as it had been dubbed (a joke among its handlers based on the infant's 'country of origin', fierce personality, and annoying tendency to bite when handled, not to mention the weather when it had arrived) was kept off any important radars and safely smuggled to Alexander's labs in Metropolis, Delaware not long after its ship. Almost immediately, Luthor abandoned the child to a team of professional researchers and doctors specializing in pediatrics and neonatology, all led by the 'Doctor Jones' who worked under Luthor as Stormkrigeren's first caretaker.

Having survived her first few weeks on Earth, Stormkrigeren began to slowly adapt to the unforgiving ecology but was still kept in an atmospherically-regulated incubator most of the time. Now that she was expected to survive longer than the initial estimate, the Project objective shifted from 'keep the infant alive long enough to discover how it is different' to 'discover how the infant's differences can be used to humanity's advantage'.

Various study groups were created to analyze Stormkrigeren and report their findings to Herr Luthor, but for the time being, he left the Project to operate almost entirely on its own. The proper funding to maintain research and the Subject's health was pumped in at the start of each month and compiled reports summarizing the infant's differences went out to Herr Luthor's desk at the end. It went on this way for some time - the weeks marked by regular tests and records revolving around the small child in a glass box, all cloaked in a shroud of secrecy. No one was to know the infant existed and no one was to know where it came from - but most of Stormkrigeren's caretakers could hazard a decent guess. Herr Luthor, one of the few people who could confirm their suspicions, quietly deigned not to discuss what he had found that fateful day in the northern Kjølen Mountains. He rarely visited the labs where Project Stormkrigeren was researched and conducted, but the few occasions that he did were usually silent affairs where he would simply look in to see that the subject was still breathing and decently healthy before promptly exiting without a backward glance.

This happened multiple times over the course of Stormkrigeren's slow improvement, though usually when there were fewer employees in the lab. Dr. Lisa Schreyer, one of the infant's primary caretakers and a specialist in pediatrics and hematology, happened to be on duty during more than a few of his visits, mostly because of the priority of her job, and though she remained wisely wary of her employer, she had eventually gotten used to his unexpected 'checking-ins'.

She was conveniently the only caretaker on duty in the Project lab during Herr Luthor's most recent visit, diligently labeling the latest batch of blood tests from the subject when he unexpectedly arrived and headed straight for the incubator. A few long, tense moments of silence only broken by the low hum of the air pump passed, and Lisa mentally debated whether to wait quietly until he left again or approach him to offer whatever assistance he might require. Her question was answered when Alexander suddenly spoke up, not tearing his gaze away from the glass as he did.

"It is much quieter than last time," he pointed out, the words crisp under his heavy German accent. The young doctor followed her boss's hard gaze to the sleeping infant in the incubator before nodding.

"Yes, she is doing a lot better," Schreyer agreed, "Dr. Jones suspected she might have been suffering from sensitive hearing which was causing her pain, but she seems to have adapted to the noise now that she's off the oxygen."

Luthor nodded, still bent over the glass box where the babe remained oblivious to her watchers before he glanced up at the woman. "So you think it might be allergic to oxygen some way? Because it seems to breathe perfectly fine now, Schreyer."

"Not exactly," she replied slowly, recognizing his dangerous tone and not wanting to anger the man who her coworkers rumored to be violent and willful - though having only gotten the mysterious job a few weeks ago, she didn't know him well enough to have an opinion on the matter.

"She started picking up weight - especially in muscle mass - within her first few days here. Her health has also improved tremendously since she was put on oxygen, but her sensitivity skyrocketed to the point where she was crying at physical contact. We also noticed increased durability in the epidermis which made it harder to take blood samples, so Dr. Jones had to take her off again. Sunlight seems to have a similar effect on her."

"What do you mean by 'durability in the epidermis'?" he asked, repeating the words slowly to correctly pronounce the English syllables, and Schreyer paused before answering.

"We, um, couldn't get a needle through her skin without risking significant muscle damage, sir."

Luthor straightened up, smoothing back his short russet hair without looking away from the infant in the incubator as he nodded sagely. "Interesting."

"Mr. Luthor," Schreyer ventured finally, "Where did you get this child?"

Everyone who knew Stormkrigeren existed silently asked the same question. No one put an infant in a lab unless they had a good reason, unless the child was special in some way. Why was it special? Was it even human? Had he bought it? Found it? Was it his own kid? Herr Luthor couldn't possibly be the father - his wife had died a few years back leaving him a son, who even at eleven years old was already the heir apparent to his father's fast-growing business empire. Of course, there was the occasional rumor of the mogul having a mistress or two, but Lisa secretly doubted the child could have such… _normal_ origins. Something was different about Stormkrigeren - no human infant was this strong or alert or sensitive, and the level of security and scrutiny surrounding it only heightened her suspicions.

The rage that flickered across Herr Luthor's face at her question confirmed that they were well placed.

"It is not your place to ask," he growled, his demeanor suddenly turning dark before he quickly sobered again and changed the subject. "Jones said it is resistant to most sedatives. That makes it both strong _and_ nearly invulnerable."

Dr. Schreyer, mildly taken aback by his sudden attitude change, considered pointing out that her charge wasn't anywhere near being invulnerable, but kept her mouth shut and simply nodded. "Spirited and intelligent too. She's barely a few months old and is already attempting to sit up and watch her surroundings, and she even recognizes some of the members of the study team."

He nodded. " _Das gut_. That will be useful. Put it on an intense learning course soon as possible - see if it continues to be smart as you say."

"What do you intend to do with her?" Schreyer asked, fully expecting another outburst from the man who obviously considered the child an experiment and not a living being. To her surprise Herr Luthor remained calm, turning slightly to face her.

"You said something about her being spirited? And strong too?"

Dr. Schreyer considered the bite marks and bruises she'd earned trying to handle an infant with the strength of a young boy who clearly didn't want to have her blood drawn yet again, and couldn't help but smile fondly at her innocent charge sleeping peacefully in her incubator. "Yes. Very much so."

Luthor nodded, turning back to stare at the infant. "She'll make a good fighter."

Something in the way he said it gave her the chills, but Lisa wisely decided against asking him what he meant and he soon answered her silent question himself.

"The world is changing fast. We change with it. And when humans change, war changes too," he said softly, "There will be war - there is no doubt of that. It is game humanity cannot stop playing with itself. But this one will be different - unspoken, unknown by many, fought in new territories with new weapons. But it is still the game of war and everyone must play. It's simple: you do not play, you lose. You lose, you die. You _win_ …"

Alexander glanced thoughtfully towards the doctor beside him and smirked at her terrified expression as he pulled a small box out of his coat pocket. Opening it, he removed a gray metal shard, holding it up to the light as he smiled, "You win, you do not die. So we all must play the game life sets before us."

Unsure how to reply, Schreyer said nothing and took a tentative step back to put some distance between herself and the man. He ignored her, glancing from the shard in his hand down to the incubator and its occupant, then set the piece of metal on top of the glass box with a tired sigh.

"Doctor, have Jones take a look at that and get back to me on what he thinks it is," Herr Luthor muttered just loud enough for her to hear as he turned towards the door when she spoke up.

"What about naming her?"

Luthor stopped in his tracks to give her a look that was partly amused and furious that she dared to question him _yet again_ , but shook his head with an eerie calmness, "You read the paperwork. It's only an experiment, Doctor. Experiments don't have names, only title."

"Project Stormkrigeren," she said softly. It was a harsh title, rough on the tongue and eliciting ideas of a dark purpose, but there was no avoiding it and she knew now that it was one her charge would have to bear. Yet she couldn't help but try one more time, "She needs an English name."

Herr Luthor's brow darkened and for a moment she wondered if she'd overstepped her boundaries, though to her relief he only nodded.

"I understand your… sentimental - your sentimental thoughts," he said slowly, frowning at his poor grasp of the language, "Now is not time for sentimental. But if it upsets you too much, I can have something arranged."

"Please," Schreyer urged. The man nodded again, his usual dark look returning as he opened the door of the lab to leave.

"I'm sure my son can think up a more human name for that _alien_."


	4. The Rules of the Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Year One.

She wasn't exactly surprised when the letter about a position she had never applied for arrived in the mail, but it was still a bit of a shock that she had been accepted. The correspondence was carefully vague about the details of the job, though Lisa already knew what would be required of her - she had been doing it for nearly a year at this point and it was only now becoming official. LexCorp's undisclosed Project Stormkrigeren had recently been deemed 'fully recovered' from the ordeal of arriving on Earth and no longer needed a full team of scientists and medical personnel to look after it, just a caretaker or two. Lisa, unfortunately, had been selected.

To say she was smart would be an understatement - she had graduated from SPBU at the top of her class with a doctoral degree in pediatrics, then a few years later earned her Master's in teaching from the University of Metropolis, all the while developing a unique skill for reading between the lines. It wasn't too hard to do so now: either she took the job, or LexCorp took everything from her. So Lisa agreed, and later that week signed the contract that granted her the position of Head Caretaker to Project Stormkrigeren.

She got the sense that Herr Luthor would have preferred leaving his 'alien' in the hands of male scientists rather than a lone female doctor, but even the scientists argued that Lisa was the better choice. She had been working with the Project almost since its creation, so the… _girl_ was comfortable with her presence and had even learned to keep her teeth to herself when Lisa took the weekly blood samples. Despite Herr Luthor's insistence on referring to the Project as an object without gender, Lisa had changed enough of its diapers to confirm that she was definitely female. But then again, an infant extraterrestrial who could already communicate and comprehend at the same level as a three-year-old human (and kick like the best of them) could be just about any gender it liked.

Project Stormkrigeren had highly accelerated growth compared to a human child, and by the anniversary of her discovery could even toddle about some and have brief conversations with her caretakers. There were four, including Lisa - Angklow, Lee, Shienne, and herself, all working around the clock to make sure the small, rumoredly extraterrestrial child did nothing to endanger itself. Angklow and Lee had the shortest 'study' shifts in which they would simply take notes on the Project's behavior and measurements for two or three hours before handing the reins back to Schreyer or Shienne. Shienne had the night shift and only had to make sure the Project prepared for and went to bed on time, then patiently wait till Lisa arrived in the morning.

As head caretaker, Lisa had the longest and most intensive shift of the team, but she enjoyed it. Her main job was to provide the Project with an education equal to her mental growth, which just so happened to be about first grade when Lisa began the lessons. The process was simple - read the textbook, remind her not to chew on the end of her braid, complete the practice questions, walk her through the worksheet or assignment, gently remind her not to rock in her chair, every Friday give a test on what she had learned that week, then repeat for each subject.

Lisa was also required to ensure that the Project ate and exercised properly in order to maintain her supposedly delicate health. The former was easy enough - all she had to do was make a few healthy meals with the nutrient content adjusted for the Project's average rate of calorie burn and give her a supplement shake whenever she was hungry outside of mealtime. Exercising was a little more challenging, mostly because the Project Room - which had previously been a meteorite laboratory now transformed into a near-empty space containing the Project's bed, a desk, and a kitchenette - was a little on the small side for an active child to run around in. The Project seemed to have far more energy than any human child her age, yet the fact that she was constantly alert and often overwhelmed seemed to tire her easily. It didn't curb her enthusiasm to try any task Lisa set before her, and willingly went through every exercise with her teacher.

Herr Luthor had already drawn up plans for bigger rooms to house the Project. They were to be in one of the lowest below-ground levels of the building to minimize exposing it to sunlight (this was based on a theory of Anklow's that the Project's species had likely evolved in a low-light-level environment, which would also explain why she was so warm-blooded and able to see quite well in the dark), equipped with state-of-the-art atmospheric systems to keep the air at a regular low-oxygen/nitrogen level (yet another of Anklow's theories proposing that the Project's natural habitat was much less nutrient-rich and heavily oxygen-deprived), along with a kitchen and a bathroom, all designed to generally provide just about everything the Project would require to further its training and purpose. This 'project objective' as it was dubbed, was never fully revealed to Lisa until she had been working with the girl for nearly a year, but long before that she had already gotten the sense that she would not like it. And despite how much Luthor clearly despised having to leave his Project in the hands of 'nannies and babysitters', he still understood the importance of the task and took it upon himself to make sure Lisa did too.

The only industry that will forever remain profitable is war, he had explained to her on one of his rare visits to the Project Room. Lisa had glanced up from the workbook she had been explaining to the girl, resisting the urge to tell her boss the subject wasn't exactly one for little ears. Alexander must have already guessed that, but only smiled cunningly and carried on talking.

His personal philosophy was that war is obviously fought with weapons, and the only way to win a war is to have better weapons than one's opponent. That was why the Manhattan Project was created and biological weapons continue to be developed - the only problem with constant development is that every weapon invented is only the best until a better one is created.

Here Alexander laughed harshly and muttered something about not being able to teach an old dog new tricks, then resumed his horrifying relation. Existing weapons cannot be improved, they are only replaced. The dilemma begs the question: what if a weapon could be taught to improve itself?

The weapon would obviously need to be highly intelligent in order to do so, he continued, not to mention powerful, capable, fast, and untraceable. And although he didn't say it outright, Luthor strongly implied that he had something bearing all of these traits sitting only a few feet away, listening intently to every word the man said.

Lisa wished she hadn't seen the small inclination of his head towards the little girl sitting beside her. She knew what he meant. She knew what he intended to do with Project Stormkrigeren. But despite the utter horror that filled her at the thought of what might happen if Herr Luthor had his way, Lisa did her job and dutifully kept her mouth shut.

Stormkrigeren had been silently listening to the one-sided conversation, though she was too young to understand much of it or read the participants' reactions. She watched and listened, not really hearing what was said, but she was smart enough to know that any discussion that occurred in her Room was more than likely discussing her. She didn't try to ask what they were talking about - she had learned early on that it was not her place to ask - and instead kept her head down and got back to her workbook. She would ask Dr. Schreyer about it later.

She forgot to ask. It must not have been important anyway.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

The Rooms were completed four months later.

Project Stormkrigeren's original Room had been on the ground floor of Research Laboratories Building #5, but her new space was now three floors below and much larger. The entire facility consisted of five main Rooms and had been designed with the sole purpose of the efficient study, development, and training of the subject.

The largest of these Rooms was the main living and training space, measuring forty-by-thirty-by-ten meters. Three of its four walls were reinforced concrete painted white, but the eastern wall was lined entirely with floor-to-ceiling mirrors - that is, the panels covering the bottom half were mirrors, but panels above were in fact darkened and reflective glass backed by a layer of strong plexiglass, behind which was the Watching Room. In addition to the mirrors, three doors were set in the eastern wall. One was solid steel leading up to the Watching Room, while the other two were mirrored sliding doors leading to the small kitchen and storage room respectively, and another door in the kitchen led to a bathroom.

All of these, with the exception of the Watching Room, were designed for the subject's regular use and habitation - the Watching Room was meant for her Watchers. The western wall of the space looked down into Stormkrigeren's main Room through a layer of plexiglass and a two-way mirror, but also included a few workstations and control panels for the Room below. The air in Stormkrigeren's Rooms was carefully filtered and often had various gases added or removed to maintain the low- oxygen/nitrogen environment, yet keep the composition normal enough that both humans and Stormkrigeren could comfortably breathe in the space with little acclimation. This delicate balance was achieved by various LexCorp machinery, but primarily an atmospheric regulator controlled from the Watching Room. There were also controls for adjusting the fans and humidifiers in the Room to control climate, and a series of cameras monitoring the Rooms not visible through the wide window. Included in the Watching Room was another small workspace with equipment for logging and conducting various medical tests Stormkriegren might receive. Like the main Room below, the Watching Room also had three doors - one to a small bathroom for the convenience of the caretakers, one to a hallway leading to the elevator, the only means by which the facility was accessible, and the final door opening to a short flight of stairs down into Stormkrigeren's main Room. All of this was designed for the purpose of documenting the subject - and making sure it didn't escape.

Stormkrigeren had been aware that bigger Rooms were being built for her to live in, but had never visited them until the day she moved in. Both Dr. Shienne and Dr. Schreyer were there to help with the transition, explaining to her how nice it would be to have more space downstairs as they helped her pack up her few clothes and belongings, which wasn't much besides a few of her favorite markers and pens and a twisty 'stimming toy' Dr. Angklow had brought her once. Stormkrigeren was a strong girl and was able to fold up her blanket nicely and carry it all by herself when she followed her caretakers out of her Room and down the hall to the elevator, holding Lisa's hand the entire time. The elevator looked very interesting on the inside, but moved very fast and made her feel a bit sick, though it was all over in a moment when the doors opened again to reveal Stormkrigeren's new home. Dr. Shienne said that she was getting an entire sub-level all to herself, though part of it only her caretakers were allowed to go in most of the time, but the rest of it Herr Luthor had made just for her.

Stormkrigeren obediently followed them down a cold hallway to the caretaker's space, which Lisa called the Watching Room because from there Lisa and Shienne could watch her to make sure she was healthy. It had a long window that looked down into a big white room - _her_ Room, her caretakers had explained. The only way to get to her Room was through a heavy door and down some stairs to another door that looked like it was made of steel and was only opened by a button in the Watching Room. Dr. Shienne quickly went back up to press it, and a moment later Lisa and her small charge stepped into the Room.

Stormkrigeren stopped suddenly only a few feet past the threshold, a little overwhelmed by the sheer size of the space. She had only been in very big rooms once or twice before, but they always had something in them that didn't make the ceiling or walls seem so far away - this Room had almost nothing in it except for a mattress and a desk with a chair. It was too big, too cold, too quiet, and far too empty.

She shrank back against Dr. Schreyer's leg, still gripping her caretaker's hand and clutching her neatly folded blanket in the other, instantly catching the woman's attention.

"What do you think?" Lisa asked, gently disentangling herself from the girl's grasp, and crouching down to her level. Stormkrigeren didn't meet her gaze - which wasn't unusual as she usually tended to avoid eye contact - and stared at the concrete floor instead, trying to form some sort of reply before giving up and simply shaking her head in answer.

Lisa knew it was probably her job to ignore the subject's clear discomfort and get on with accustoming her to the Room as soon as possible, but she couldn't say she didn't understand what the little girl was feeling. Of course, the space would be overwhelming at first, especially for a toddler who already struggled with sudden changes in scenery or schedule, not to mention just how _exposed_ it was in the huge Room. There was almost nothing in it - no cupboards or beds or sofas or even a rug - absolutely nowhere a small kid could curl up for a game of hide-and-seek, to read a book, or even just to feel safe and hidden. Against the harsh white walls and with nothing to conceal herself behind, a little girl would be clearly visible at any and all times. There was nowhere for her to hide from the prying eyes up in the Watching Room.

"Well, I know it's a little big..." Schreyer said, pointing out the obvious and trying to quell the little voice in her head saying a damn cardboard box would do if only to get Stormkrigeren a moment of peace, "...but at least you have a lot more space to run around in now. That'll be nice, right?"

Lisa hadn't lied - the Rooms were purposely spacious so that the subject would have plenty of elbow room, but they were still a bit large for just one occupant. Herr Luthor's chilling words stayed with her even months later - the subject would need plenty of space to train in, so space is what he had provided for her. It would not be long before the man decided it was time to use it.

"Let's look around," her caretaker suggested, and Stormkrigeren nodded hesitantly, following her out of the doorway as towards the bare mattress situated on the floor against the far wall, a fitted sheet folded on the end waiting to be put on so the bed could be used. Schreyer decided to set up the girl's sleeping place later, and after depositing her blanket, the two of them headed for the Room's kitchen.

The kitchen-slash-storage Room was definitely less blank than the main Room, a counter running along one wall and a tall cupboard unit taking up the opposite with walking space in the middle and a door at the far end of the space, likely opening to the bathroom. Stormkrigeren inquisitively opened the minifridge beneath the counter only to discover that it had not been stocked yet, so satisfied her curiosity instead by opening every cupboard she could reach in search of something more interesting than bare shelves. Lisa could tell the girl was more than a little discouraged by the sheer emptiness of the place, and made a mental note to bring some of the cleaning supplies and medical equipment from her previous Room upstairs to stock the place so it wouldn't seem so bare, and maybe see if she could find some juice for the subject to placate her.

Stormkrigeren had quickly gotten bored of finding nothing, so started investigating the bathroom door with Schreyer in tow, and after a brief struggle of trying to reach the handle by herself, finally managed to get it open. She toddled inside, glancing around at the familiar toilet and sink before her gaze settled on the shower stall with interest. Lisa had always given her baths in a plastic tub simply because it was the most convenient and the only showers in the research park were in a separate building that housed a radiobiology facility, but her caretaker had explained to her what they were and how they made warm rain if one turned the handle inside.

Lisa was just about to step in to prevent her charge from trying to fiddle with the handle when they both recognized the sound of footsteps approaching, temporarily distracting the little girl. Dr. Shienne appeared in the bathroom doorway, taking in the sight of the tiny girl trying to turn on the shower while Dr. Schreyer tried to stop her before quickly addressing the Head Caretaker.

"Herr Luthor called. He might visit later to see how the transition went," she announced, smiling at the little Stormkrigeren, "If you're lucky, he might even bring Lex with him."

Schreyer nodded, taking a deep breath as if that would help to calm her nerves at the thought of having to deal with the likes of Herr Luthor, who clearly knew nothing about childrearing and clearly didn't want to know. With a sigh, she brushed the apprehension from her mind and gently nudged Stormkrigeren away from the shower stall, leading her charge out into the main Room.

"Alright, Shienne. We'll be ready for them."


	5. Rule #1: Do not go outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Year Two.

"Ready?"

The small girl nodded excitedly, avoiding her caretaker's gaze and fidgeting with the zipper on her sweater. Lisa knelt down to gently pry her hands away from the dangling piece of metal, but decided not to reprimand her this time - she had every right to be nervous and no way to express it.

"Pulse," Lisa instructed, and the Project obediently tilted her head to the side, allowing the woman to press two fingers to the side of her throat. A little fast, but that was to be expected. What really worried her was the fact that the girl seemed to be panting lightly even at room temperature despite not having exercised recently, though it didn't seem serious enough to indicate a bigger problem than being a bit out-of-breath.

"Breath slower - you're hyperventilating," Lisa frowned, taking the Project's hand in her own, "Remember to stay close to me, and don't go wandering off."

Her charge nodded again and obediently followed her caretaker out of the Watching Room down the hall to the elevator. She had gone upstairs a few times with Dr. Schreyer, so she knew the drill and even remembered which button to press for the ground floor (which wasn't too hard as the building her Rooms were beneath only had two floors above ground).

"Why am I in the basement?" she asked suddenly, watching the elevator doors close with a dull thud moments before the car began to ascend, "Couldn't I live upstairs? I could have a window and you wouldn't have to ride the el-uh-vay-tor every day when you come to see me."

Lisa almost smiled at the innocently curious question and compelling argument. The girl usually didn't talk much - very little, in fact, when compared to the average two-year-old - but her vocabulary and communication skills were already far greater than any 'normal' toddler her age.

"We don't want to risk exposing you to too much sunlight until we know more about your condition, and I really don't mind the ride," Lisa assured her, stepping out of the elevator car into the brightly-lit laboratory hallway, and after confirming that it was empty, led the Project after her as they moved towards the north end of the building.

"Am I allergic to the sun?"

"Not exactly. I'd compare it to erythropoietic protoporphyria - though simply put, instead of swelling, your skin density increases," Lisa corrected her, then recognizing the confusion on the girl's face quickly added, "You can ask Mister Lee about it when he comes to take samples on Monday."

The Project didn't reply, frowning thoughtfully and still breathing somewhat heavier than normal, but she didn't complain or speak up again until the pair had nearly reached the north entrance of the facility.

"Is that what he means when he calls me a 'savant'?"

Lisa shook her head, fishing her keycard out of her pocket before remembering that the door outside would likely be locked since it was past working hours. No matter - as high-ranking personnel, she had her own key to the building below which the Project resided.

"I think he's referring to your good memory and how well you are doing in math. You're very smart for your age, you just… develop _differently_ compared to most children," Lisa explained, fishing the key out of her pocket. Stormkrigeren remained silent, likely thinking the new information over in her small head, and stared past her reflection on the glass doors to the dark parking lot outside. There wasn't much out there besides asphalt, some grass and bushes and cars, and the chain-link fence separating the compound from the nearby highway, but out there one could see the sky. Stormkrigeren could only remember seeing the sky once or twice before, but only at night when the sun was down so it was safe for her to go out to other nearby buildings for various medical scans Dr. Schreyer or Lee or Anklow couldn't do in her Rooms. She liked the sky - it was big and dark blue and gray and smelled like wind - but she didn't much like going Outside. She got headaches when she went Outside, but she was okay with the pain if she got to see the sky.

Lisa heard the door click as it unlocked, requiring only a small turn of the handle and a light push to open it and step outside. She had known the risks of taking Stormkrigeren out of the building into an uncontrolled, unregulated environment - hell, she had been one of the original caretakers for the child and had written the damn reports condemning the subject's exposure to sunlight and normal atmosphere. There was a reason Herr Luthor had an entire complex of specially designed and atmospherically regulated Rooms built underground for a single child - every single time she had been exposed to sunlight or too much oxygen, her body had reacted badly. But what Lisa had not reported was that the subject was gradually growing stronger, her reactions less dangerous, and her tolerance much higher. Stormkrigeren was still 'allergic' to sunlight and oxygen (if allergic was even the right word), but one could overcome allergies by exposing themselves to the allergen in small doses. Which was exactly what Lisa was doing.

She turned the handle with her free hand and quietly pushed the glass door open, letting in a light breeze that smelled of cut grass and wet asphalt. Little Stormkrigeren stiffened beside her caretaker, gripping Lisa's hand tightly The subject was a strong little thing - she'd tolerate the heavy air just fine and hopefully with no bad side effects. Lisa suspected the worst thing that could happen to the girl was a headache and possibly a brief asthma attack, though that was highly unlikely. She'd be fine - she hoped.

Dr. Schreyer ushered the girl past the threshold and onto the sidewalk outside the LexCorp Research Facility building, still holding her hand to make sure she didn't wander off - not that she was likely to. Stormkrigeren had gone off with supervision exactly once, and luckily had been quickly found wandering around the Watching Room, but was severely reprimanded by Herr Luthor afterward - a little too severely, in Lisa's opinion. Now the subject was always just a little too willing to stay close and obey every order presented to her, and Dr. Schreyer was almost afraid that her curiosity had been crushed at too young an age. But despite her suppressed exploration, Stormkrigeren still questioned the world around her with fascinated interest - which was exactly the look on her little face when they stepped outside.

Lisa felt the little girl tighten her grasp on her caretaker's hand as the pair stepped down onto the asphalt of the parking lot and out from beneath the overhanging roof. For the first time in a long time, there was nothing but sky above Stormkrigeren's head - dark and gray and wide and-

The sky was full of stars.

Lisa had told her about stars, how they were only visible when the sky was free of any heavy clouds and looked like little lights or a dusting of flour stuck in a big black blanket. Stormkrigeren didn't think they looked like lights or flour - they looked like… stars. Flickering stars, small stars, _loud_ stars.

It was loud Outside. Very loud. She could hear wind and grass and cars on the nearby highway and the humming of the electric fence and the whine of the security cameras and Dr. Schreyer's breathing, and what Stormkrigeren thought might have been Dr. Schreyer's heartbeat too, mixed up and jumbled in all the noise. Her ears rang with the effort of trying to shut it all out, failing miserably as each sound bored its way into her head, shouting, yelling, screaming, her own heart thundering like-

"Darcie?"

Stormkrigeren inhaled sharply at the voice and nearly cried out in pain from the stimulation. She quickly covered her ears with her hands and squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying to shut it all out, waiting for it to go away, it had to go away eventually, didn't it?

"Darcie? Черт побери, keep breathing. We're going back inside - just hold on."

She whimpered softly when rough arms wrapped themselves around her, squeezing, crushing, carrying, dragging her up off the ground and back inside. The overwhelming scent of Dr. Schreyer's lavender soap invaded her nose as her caretaker scooped her up, jostling her up and down as the woman ran, her footsteps only adding to the already unbearable noise before Stormkrigeren was finally set down and the jostling stopped.

The lights hurt her eyes like needles when they went under her skin the wrong way, but Stormkrigeren briefly peeked long enough to recognize that they were the bright lights of her Room and not the little security ones in the laboratories upstairs. That was good - it meant she wasn't on the ground floor or outside anymore, and she was in her Room where the sounds didn't hurt her all the time - but they were still hurting her now. There were too many moving lights and rough things and loud sounds thundering like a hurricane in her ears and nearly drowning each other out, yet she could still make out a few sounds that she knew, like the buzzing of the lights and the pop of the refrigerator seal.

She opened her eyes, squinting so the brightness didn't hurt as much, and saw Dr. Schreyer hurrying towards her from the kitchen Room, a juice box in her hand. Stormkrigeren brightened up at the sight of the little cardboard box, recognizing the label immediately and knowing that there was orange juice inside. She liked orange juice - it had a nice taste and Lisa always got her the kind that didn't have the bad pulpy bits in it and the juice was actually the same color as it said on the box.

The loud noises went quiet for a short moment when she happily accepted the juice Dr. Schreyer handed to her, catching the straw in her mouth and taking a long sip before the flavor suddenly hit her.

It tasted _wrong_ \- bad, very bad, too much and all over her tongue and she couldn't get it off. Stormkrigeren panicked, wanting to get the taste to go away and separate herself as far as possible from the bad taste, dropping the juice box in her efforts to get it as far away from herself as possible. The hurricane of sounds suddenly returned, more deafening than before as she tried to cover her ears and shut it all out, making herself small so the noises and the lights wouldn't find her.

"Darcie," Lisa sighed, her voice tinged with annoyance, but she patiently picked the box up and righted it so it wouldn't spill, "Can you tell me what's wrong? Were you having trouble breathing?"

Stormkrigeren shook her head, hunching her shoulders and covering her eyes against the bright, flickering lights trying to get into her head, flashing and humming and screeching-

"'S loud," she whispered, flinching at the sound of her own voice roaring in her ears.

Lisa simply nodded, "Yeah, it does get a bit loud in a big city sometimes. That's just how it is, but you can get used to it eventually."

No, no, she didn't understand - it wasn't just loud Outside, it was loud inside her Rooms too - it was too loud and bright and she tried so hard, uncovering her eyes even though the lights and the sounds hurt so much, but she didn't try hard enough-

"I-I didn't get to look at the stars very long."

"That's all right," Lisa assured her, gently passing the little girl her juice, "You can see the stars some other time."

Stormkrigeren only nodded and obediently sipped at the straw, trying her best to ignore the overwhelming flavor and constant flashing of the lights. It was a little easier now - the sounds were still loud, but quieter than they had been before, and the lights didn't seem to flash as quickly, and she could breathe a little easier. Maybe she was getting better at shutting it all out. Maybe it wouldn't hurt so much next time she went to see the stars.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

She soon realized that there might not be a next time. Not after Lisa got in trouble.

Stormkrigeren could hear Herr Luthor yelling at her in the Watching Room. He was always very loud, especially when he was mad, and he sounded very mad today.

No one was allowed to take the subject (she had figured out long ago that 'the subject' was her) outside unless they got proper uh-proo-val forms from Herr Luthor himself, and even then she couldn't be outside for very long - only long enough for her to be moved between buildings, he said. There was too much risk of her either being seen by someone who didn't know about the Project or even her having some sort of medical ee-mer-gen-see. The Outside was dangerous, and who knew what might happen to her - she might stop breathing or go into shock or hurt herself during a sensory overload (that's what Dr. Schreyer called it when Stormkrigeren heard or saw too much of everything).

Lisa got mad too and yelled back at Herr Luthor that the only way such medical ee-mer-gen-sees were pree-ven-tuh-bul was if Stormkrigeren developed an immunity to them through exposure. She said some things about grah-dj-oo-al acclimation and allergies that Stormkrigern didn't quite understand, but Herr Luthor did. He was quiet for a bit, probably thinking about what Lisa had told him, before deciding that he would reconsider exposure therapy in a few years when the subject was older and more was known about her physiology and potential reactions to the Outside.

Lisa thanked him (though she still sounded a bit mad), and Herr Luthor left the Watching Room to go back up to the Outside. A few minutes later Lisa came down to Stormkrigeren's Room, looking maybe a tiny bit mad still, but she just sounded tired when she told the girl to run and get her workbooks. Lisa didn't say anything about what Mister Luthor had said, but Stormkrigeren had heard all of it anyway. It would be a long while before she got to see the stars again.


	6. Rule #2: Do not question your superiors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Year Three

As stupid as it sounded, Dr. Schreyer often thought of her charge as something of an E.T. The girl was similar in many ways to the fictional alien - she was curious, deliberate, clever, not especially verbal, and would occasionally make odd humming noises to herself until Lisa had to remind her to use her words. Stormkrigeren knew how to talk perfectly well - she just preferred to watch and listen instead, which was fine by her caretaker.

The combination of unusual, or even extraterrestrial traits meant that the subject was a very good student, if a little strange in her ways. She enjoyed learning as far as Lisa could tell, poring over her workbooks at an incredible pace, memorizing every word and chart shown to her, and brightening up every time her caretaker brought more material for her to study. Today was no different, so when Lisa brought a stack of new text- and workbooks, and a recent edition of the _Daily Planet_ with her into the Rooms that morning, Stormkrigeren was instantly at her side, watching curiously as her teacher set the learning material down on the desk.

"Доброе утро, Stormkrigeren," Lisa greeted the subject, enunciating the foreign words slowly to ensure that she understood.

"Доброе утро, Доктор Schreyer," the little girl replied in perfect Russian, looking inquisitively across the desk at the stack of new books, then back up at her caretaker with a shy smile.

"Ты выглядишь очень счастливым сегодня," Dr. Schreyer smiled back, taking a seat at the desk and opening one of the curricula, "Вы рады новым учебникам?"

"Yчe… учебниками? Like учебники?" her student asked and Lisa chuckled at the question. The girl had a good conversational grasp of the language already, but like many children still struggled a bit with conjugation.

"Yes, учебники - it means textbooks. Did you finish all of yesterday's?"

Stormkrigeren nodded, "Да, мэм."

"Good job! Okay, let's start with Algebra then and continue through the usual schedule. If you finish early, we might be able to look through the newspaper I brought too."

Her charge fidgeted in her seat, expressing her excitement with a soft humming and eager kick at the legs of her chair before earning a calming hand of mild disapproval on her shoulder. Sometimes Lisa forgot Stormkrigeren was only three years old and still had the energy of a small child - she seemed so mature, not to mention the fact that the girl could easily pass as twice her age. She made up for her impulsive energy by being a very attentive listener and quick to obey, though her roaming nature occasionally distracted her from her studies. In fact, her urge to explore had been part of the reason Herr Luthor had her confined to a series of Rooms beneath one of his research laboratories, the entire space perfectly tailored to her needs and training. Schreyer wouldn't have minded living down there, if only to get away from all the bustle of city living - though personally, she hated the idea of Stormkrigeren spending the next seventeen years of her life locked in here. But when Herr Luthor gave the orders, she didn't dare disobey.

Stormkrigeren had already flipped open the nearest Algebra workbook and was contentedly reading through the instructions before silently filling out the quiz. She was a smart, if quiet girl, and had long ago learned how to quickly figure things out on her own without the help of an adult or teacher or caretaker, but she still occasionally cane to Lisa for small assistance.

"Paar-ah-boo-lah." she muttered slowly under her breath, sounding out the word as she read it before glancing up at her caretaker, "Pa-ra-bola or Pair-uh-boola?"

"Parabola," Dr. Schreyer replied simply, "Do you need help understanding it?"

Stormkrigeren thoughtfully drummed her fingers on the book and only shook her head in reply, already moving on to solving the problem now that her pronunciation issue was resolved. Seeing that her student was managing just fine, Lisa turned to the other books to begin marking out her student's schedule - though before she had even opened the first one, the steel door leading out of the Rooms opened with a low hiss.

"Doctor Schreyer," Herr Luthor barked in what could barely be recognized as a greeting as the tall man marched into the room, followed by his son - a near carbon-copy of his father with his bright russet hair and sharp features - trailing reluctantly behind.

"Good morning, Herr Luthor," Lisa replied automatically, standing up to welcome her employer. Stormkrigeren kept silent, but obediently climbed out of her chair as the father and son approached them.

Despite addressing her, the man shot only a brief glance in Lisa's direction and instead turned his hard gaze on the small Stormkrigeren, who was quietly standing to attention while he inspected her. Herr Luthor always inspected her when he came to visit the Rooms, which was about once every week, and Stormkrigeren had to stand very still while he looked at her and asked Dr. Schreyer all sorts of questions about the subject's health and progress.

This time, however, Herr Luthor didn't ask any questions and simply waved Lisa towards the door with a dismissive nod. "You can leave, Schreyer. I'll summon you when we're finished."

She hesitated, her gaze shifting from Herr Luthor to the tiny girl at her side, and considered suggesting that it might be better if they came back later as Stormkrigeren still had some schoolwork left. But the silencing glare her boss shot in her direction made her rethink protesting, so Lisa obediently gathered up her work and left without another word.

Stormkrigeren silently watched her caretaker exit the Room, shifting nervously on her feet now that she had been left alone with the man and his son. She really wanted to go with Lisa and not have to stay here by herself with Herr Luthor who yelled a lot and could get very mad sometimes, but she knew that running after her teacher would be punished as dis-oh-beed-ee-ens. Stormkrigeren knew what was expected of her, so she obediently folded her hands behind her back and stood very still as Herr Luthor moved a few steps closer, looking her over scornfully.

"Arbeiten sie hart an ihrem Deutsch?" he asked sharply, inquiring as to whether she was working hard on her German studies. Even at such a young age, she had already shown a good proficiency for languages, but Stormkrigeren's voice still trembled a little as she replied.

"Ja… jawohl," she said quietly, staring up at the tall man towering over her.

Herr Luthor only nodded and moved past her to sit down at the nearby desk in the chair Dr. Schreyer had recently vacated, disinterestedly flicking through a nearby workbook. Stormkrigeren warily kept her distance and kept her eyes on him, preparing herself to receive an order of some sort, when the taut silence permeating her Room was suddenly broken by a sneeze.

Herr Luthor's head snapped up, instantly finding the source of the disturbance still standing near the door, and Stormkrigeren followed his hard gaze to his son, Alexander.

The boy was standing awkwardly near the entrance to her Rooms, rubbing his left arm and staring at the floor in an attempt to hide the flush on his place - probably a combination of embarrassment and irritated sinuses. Stormkrigeren knew that he was much older than her by about eleven years (Dr. Schreyer had told her informed her of this after the little girl had pointed out that she never saw anyone else her own age, to which her caretaker agreed that Alexander was probably the closest in age of all of her visitors), but the boy was admittedly a bit on the small side for his age. He had his father's russet mop of hair and natural leanness, but the sharp hawk-like features so prominent in his sire's face were rounded and boyish on his own - and though they shared the same blood, in no way did the younger Alexander share his father's boldness as he avoided the man's gaze.

Herr Luthor snorted in annoyance at that and signaled for his son to come closer, pointing at the floor next to Stormkrigeren in a clear order as to where the junior Alexander should stand. The boy obeyed (though he dragged his feet a bit as he did) while the senior continued to apathetically page through one of Stormkrigeren's workbooks for her physics class for a few moments longer. Both children knew better than to speak without permission, so instead of asking Herr Luthor what they should do next, they both stood there quietly - Stormkrigeren picked at the hem of her shirt, while Lex continued to rub his arm and stare at the floor.

Nearly a minute had passed before Herr Luthor finally dropped the book back on the desk with a resounding thud, and turned to eye the two children with a frown. "Talk."

"Wh… what should we talk about?" Stormkrigeren asked slowly and politely, tripping over the words. Her hands felt shaky and her tummy felt nervous, and she didn't know why or how to stop it, but it must not have mattered because Herr Luthor simply shrugged and ignored her trembling.

"Anything: taxes, politics - the damn weather if you like."

Alexander Junior straightened at that, looking up from the floor long enough to shoot a glare in his father's direction, huffing, "I'm not talking to her - she's an infant-"

"And already it has a brighter future than you - the future of mankind, _of war_!" Herr Luthor fumed, nearly rising out of his chair in fury, "It's going to change this world in impossible ways while you have your nose stuck in a book, so you'd better straighten up and _bloody talk_!"

Both children flinched at the raised voice and involuntarily took a step back. Stormkrigeren noticed that her legs were feeling a bit shaky now too, but she quickly tried to keep them still and not let herself fall as Alexander reluctantly turned to her, nervously running a hand through his russet locks. "So… what do you want to talk about?"

"I-I'm not sure," she answered quietly, still picking at the hem of her shirt which was beginning to wear thin beneath her fingers.

"Well, we have to choose something," Alexander pointed out, glancing apprehensively at his father and noticing the books on her desk, "What are you learning?"

Stormkrigeren knew the answer to that - she did a lot of studying and was very good at keeping track of all of her classes and workbooks.

"Al-geh-brah, world history, bye-ol-oh-gee, physics, lan-goo-idge arts, German literature - oh, and Russian literature too - and some Mandarin and Hindi and, um, domestic housekeeping. And ek-con-nom-iks and Arabic every other day."

"That's a lot of languages," Alexander commented, catching her off guard. Stormkrigeren had never really thought of it as a lot - it was just something she did and it was normal and okay for her.

"I-I guess it is," she answered, wondering how many were considered 'a lot' before she remembered that she was probably supposed to ask him a question now.

"How many are you learning?" Stormkrigeren asked, looking up at the older boy who was still staring at the floor and stealing the occasional uneasy glance at their audience of one. Herr Luthor's frown was still etched on his face, but he didn't speak up and let the children continue their conversation as Alexander answered.

"Just German - and Spanish too," he replied before perking up a little, "After Spanish class, I get to play basketball with my friends and it's pretty fun. I'm one of the wings, though it's a little hard to score three-pointers because I'm so short."

Stormkrigeren, who knew next to nothing about basketball, just nodded sagely and pointed at his face, "Is that how you hurt your cheek?"

Alexander tensed, frozen to the spot as he gingerly touched his left cheekbone, shaking his head as he did, "No… no, I'm fine. There's no bruise or anything-"

"It's covered with makeup," the little girl pointed out, "There's another one on your arm beneath your shirt - it might hurt more if you keep rubbing it-"

A hard slap across her mouth silenced her as Stormkrigeren stumbled back, licking a drop of blood from her lips as she stared up at Herr Luthor towering over her, rage shining in his eyes. Without warning, he grabbed her by the wrist and roughly yanked her to her feet, painfully twisting her arm as he did.

" _HOW DID YOU SEE IT!?_ " the man roared, and Stormkrigeren cried out from the agony of her shoulder nearly popping out of its socket.

"I'm sorry - I don't know!"

" _LIES!_ Tell me, _unvernünftige schlampe_! Tell me _now_!"

"I don't know!" Stormkrigeren cried again, tears streaming down her face and her arm feeling as if it were about to split in half. She was barely thinking now, desperately trying to make him stop, desperately trying to get away, and she kicked out at him in an attempt to free herself. Her heel hit his leg, and Stormkrigeren managed to wriggle free of his grip as he pressed a hand against his bruised shin, glaring at her demonically. " _You hurt me_!"

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" she apologized quickly, wiping tears and blood from her face as she backed away from him. She was not quick enough, and a moment later his fist made contact with her temple a second time, throwing her to the floor.

"Shut up! Just shut up, you bitch!" Luthor bellowed, giving her prone form a hard kick before he moved to grab his son from where the boy had been cowering nearby, "On your feet, Alexander! Stupid - both of you!"

The older man forced Alexander towards the door, practically dragging the boy out with him as Stormkrigeren watched with wet eyes, struggling to hold back another flood of tears. The steel door slammed shut behind them, leaving her in almost blissful silence now that they were gone, and for a few long moments, she sat quietly on the floor and stared at the drops of blood - _her_ blood - glistening on the concrete. Finally, she stood up and took a deep breath before returning to the desk to continue her work.


	7. Rule #3: Do not disobey your Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Year Four

It had been a slow few months. Not many contracts of his caliber had been put out, and even the ones that he might have considered were often snapped up by less-experienced killers willing to do the job for pennies. Of course, when boys are hired to do a man’s work, mistakes are made. Leaving a trail was the most common. Mister Wilson never left a trail - or rather, he never left anyone alive to follow it.

Wintergreen had approached him recently, claiming to finally have something of interest. The contract proposal was vague (as usual, damnit), but it was from one of the biggest oil barons in North America - men like that had interesting enemies and plenty of money to have such foes killed off. If nothing else, the contract would be easily over with and leave Mister Wilson a good deal richer. He agreed to meet with the caller, and Wintergreen organized the rest.

A few days later, Mister Wilson arrived outside the LexCorp Research Park in the suburbs of Metropolis, driving his rental past the empty security booth just an hour after sundown. The entire ‘civilian visitor’ facade was bullshit and he could have easily hopped the fence when no cameras were looking, but the man who had called for Deathstroke had politely requested that his security be involved as little as possible, and Wilson was not one to complain about having to drive a little.

Following the instructions left for him by the man, he parked the car outside the main building and shrugged his heavy coat on as he stepped out into the chilly evening. It was idiotic to be meeting here - the place was far too exposed and open to the public, drastically increasing the chance of someone listening in while the contract was organized. The research park seemed to be empty - there were only a few cars in the dim lot and no employees were visible through the glass doors - but he still got the sense that he was being watched. It only took a moment for him to locate his stalker sitting in a coupe parked nearby, the man eyeing him curiously from the other side of the glass until Wilson decided to approach. The man exited his car, smoothing back his russet hair and smirking dangerously as he greeted the mercenary.

“You must be Deathstroke,” Alexander Luthor addressed him, “I understand you are quite a busy man, so thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice-”

“You can skip the formalities,” Wilson scowled, shooting Luthor a look that usually sent the weaker-willed off running, “I’m here on business - the sooner this is over with, the sooner I can do my job.”

“Of course,” the oil baron nodded, unperturbed by his hard glare, “Let’s get this underway, shall we? If you’ll just follow me, I have something I’d like to show you before we begin drawing up the contract.”

Wilson was not given a chance to protest before Luthor set off at a brisk pace for one of the nearby darkened buildings, crossing the parking lot with the tall mercenary following close behind. If Slade’s intel on the man was correct, some of the laboratories in the research park might just be manufacturing armaments instead of fuel, so Wilson would not have been surprised if that’s what Luthor wanted him to see. It wouldn’t be the first time one of his more eccentric customers had requested that the job be done with a particular weapon of choice - and Wilson could work with that just fine on the condition that he was paid well for the service.

Alexander fished a ring of keys from his coat pocket and soon had the front door of the laboratories unlocked, ushering Mister Wilson inside before locking it behind them. The man moved quickly down the dim hallway, passing various work rooms already locked up for the night before he finally stopped in front of an elevator. The doors opened with a soft ping mere moments after Herr Luthor pressed the ‘down’ button, and the two men stepped inside.

“I am well aware of your price, Mister Wilson, and even spoke with a few of your previous customers - all of whom were highly satisfied with your work,” Alexander explained, lightly tapping his keycard against a seemingly blank panel below the floor selection buttons, and the doors slid shut in response, “I’d like to propose an offer for your services at two-hundred-fifty-thousand US Dollars per annum, but we can bargain over the required hours later-”

“What the hell do you mean?” Wilson growled, steadying himself as the small room began descending below ground. Contracts were a once-off thing - they didn’t last an entire year, much less require hours of work.

Alexander glanced up at the taller man. “Rumor has it you’ve taken on students to learn your methodology before, Mister Wilson. The rumors are true, yes?”

“I’ve taught a few,” Wilson admitted reluctantly, confirming Luthor’s suspicions. The elevator’s quick descent slowed to a halt and the doors opened again, allowing the two men to step out into a narrow concrete corridor. Alexander smiled at the mercenary’s reply and took the lead, moving down the hallway to a door at the end.

“Well, Mister Wilson,” he said confidently, pausing with his hand on the knob, “This student might turn out to be your best one yet.”

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Lisa sighed, rubbing her tired eyes before going back to logging the blood test results. Sometimes she forgot how different the little girl on the other side of the glass really was - she seemed so innocently human, but understanding how her alien body worked was almost a completely new science in itself.

At four years old, Stormkrigeren was already years ahead of any human child her age, completing her lessons at an incredible pace all while memorizing every word of her textbooks. She was far stronger and more physically developed than the average four-year-old, and faster too, but she always seemed to be a little on the small side and she struggled with understanding basic relationship concepts like emotions and empathy. If she had been a normal human child, Lisa would have easily diagnosed her with Asperger’s or some other form of high operating autism, but Stormkrigeren was an extraterrestrial whose mind and body worked in ways Schreyer doubted could ever be fully understood, and she wondered if there even was such a thing as mental disabilities where the little girl came from - wherever that was.

But right now she didn’t have the time or energy to seriously contemplate the question of ‘how alone are we in the universe’, having spent the past few hours going through all of the child’s work for the day. As usual, every question was correct right down to the girl’s immaculate handwriting, and now Lisa only needed to finish documenting the blood test results in the system and make sure that Stormkrigeren got to bed on time before waiting for Dr. Shienne to come to take the night shift.

She heard the distant ping of the elevator down the hall and nearly sighed in relief, guessing that it was likely Shienne arriving to start her shift of simply ensuring that the subject didn’t escape or mysteriously pass away overnight. Not that either of those was likely, but it gave Lisa a few hours to head back to her Metropolis apartment for a long bath and deep sleep.

To her surprise, it wasn’t the middle-aged pediatrician who stepped into the Watching Room a moment later, but Herr Luthor himself, followed by a well-built man with short, silvery hair and a scowl that seemed permanently etched on his face. 

“Sir-“ she began, addressing her employer before he quickly interrupted her.

“We’re here to visit Stormkrigeren, Dr. Schreyer,” Luthor informed her. She nodded and glanced inquisitively at the other man, noting his hard stare and the pale scar streaking over one of his cheekbones. Only half-a-second had passed before Luthor impatiently decided that she had paused long enough.

“This is Stormkrigeren’s new teacher,” he explained, indicating the man beside him, “My assistant will send you your updated schedule in the morning, but if you value your job, Schreyer, I highly suggest you  _ open the damn door _ !”

Lisa hid a flinch at his raised voice as she reluctantly turned to her workstation and swiped her key card, watching as the steel door at the opposite end of the Watching Room slid back. Luthor only nodded sharply in approval before the two men descended the short flight of stairs to enter her charge’s Room.

A small girl with short black locks and strikingly blue eyes looked up expectantly as they entered, caught in the act of diligently stacking her workbooks to be put away for the night. She paused from the task and silently got up to stand to attention, obediently keeping quiet until she was given permission to speak, but it didn’t stop her from glancing curiously at the newcomers. The silver-haired man stopped when he saw her, his eyes darkening as he turned on Luthor, “You implied the student would be  _ competent _ .”

“It is, it is,” Luthor quickly amended, “It is just as strong as any other student a man of your caliber would take on - perhaps even more so-”

“She’s a  _ child _ ,” the silver-haired man growled, “I expected at least a teenager, someone who could pull their own weight -  _ not _ an effing infant. Call the contract off - I won’t take it, and no one else will.”

Luthor looked like he was about to protest again when the girl spoke up for the first time.

“What do you teach?”

The silver-haired man turned his hard gaze down on her, taking in her small stature and military demeanor as she stared back, unperturbed by the stranger’s glare. He seemed to assess her and her question before answering, “I don’t teach.”

“You and Herr Luthor both called me as a ‘student’ and said that I need to be strong to be taught by a man of your kal-e-bur, so you must have been talking about teaching me,” the girl replied, folding her hands behind her back as she puffed out her chest in pride, “I am strong. I had strength training yesterday, and I deadlifted eighty kilos.”

Luthor frowned, “Keep your mouth shut-”

The silver-haired man silenced him with a wave of his hand, his gaze never leaving the small girl.

“Let’s say you  _ are _ strong enough and I took you on as my student. Would you still be just as eager if you had to fight me?”

The question obviously caught her by surprise and Stormkrigeren paused, taking a moment to consider the idea of having to physically fight a man more than three times her size.

It was a trick question. It had to be. Dr. Schreyer liked asking them because she said they really made one think about the answer very hard. Stormkrigeren had read enough of the books Herr Luthor brought her sometimes to know that everyone fights for what they have the least of, but even if you lost the fight you would still gain recognition for having at least tried to win. That was what fighting was about.

“You already know who would win,” she answered slowly, meeting his dark eyes, “But I wouldn’t be afraid to try, if only just to say that I fought.”

The stranger gave her a hard look and seemed to consider her answer. Deep down, Stormkrigeren knew that she probably would not make the best sort of student for fighting - she was small for her age and Lisa said that she took too long to reply or understand sometimes, and she didn’t know much about fighting besides what she had already told the stranger. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the silver-haired man decided to leave her Rooms right then and look for a better student, but to her surprise, he didn’t go away and asked her another question instead.

“Are you a good listener?” he interrogated, his hard gaze softening ever so slightly. Stormkrigeren nodded and resisted the urge to play with her fingers nervously when she answered.

“Yes, sir.”

“If I told you to do something that you knew would hurt, would you still do it if I said it’d work out in the long run?”

There was a brief moment of hesitation before she nodded, but at least she had agreed. What really worried Mister Wilson was the way the girl’s gaze flickered towards Herr Luthor, diligently staying out of arm's reach and always keeping an eye on the oil baron, a shadow of a flinch crossing her face every time he raised his voice, which was often. The entire contract was full of red flags, and on any other day Slade might have turned it down, but today he was feeling sentimental.

Grant used to fiddle with the hem of his sweater when he was nervous - at least until Slade had forced him to stop. The boy obeyed, but only when his dad was around and usually went right back to it when the older man wasn’t looking. The habit had finally stopped when Slade sat him down and began to explain the basics of what he did, and eventually fighting replaced fidgeting in Grant’s life. The only problem was that he fought too much and too often and afterwards never listened to anything Slade tried to tell him, though deep down his father was glad for that. The boy knew how to defend himself, and that was all that mattered.

Now this girl in front of him didn’t know the first thing about defense, and by the looks of things had already paid Mister Luthor’s price for her ignorance. Fool that he was, Slade wanted to fix that. He wanted to try again, to make right whatever he had done wrong with Grant. He wanted to give her a chance, to prevent another angry kid from being stuck in the same cycle of violence their entire life, to at least give her something to defend herself with, even if that something was just her fists.

She’d make a good fighter. She was small, strong, probably quite fast, a good listener, and focused on both the details and the bigger picture, not to mention also the perfect age to begin training. It was a combination of traits perfect for a life of combat if only she had the right training and teacher. Which was what Slade was about to become - not for himself, but for the small girl standing attentively before him, ready to learn to fight. Slade just hoped that she fought for the right people.

He nodded once as if to confirm that he liked what he saw, and finally turned to Luthor beside him, “Five-hundred per annum. Upfront.”

“Mr. Wilson!” Luthor sputtered, “That’s twice as much as we agreed on-”

“Then make it six-hundred. You get the money and I’ll  _ consider _ taking her on,” Mr. Wilson replied threateningly, moving towards the door. The man would cave, and as expected, Luthor called after him a moment later.

“Make it fifty a month, and you would only have to be here… ninety hours of it.”

Mr. Wilson stopped mid-step, glancing over his shoulder at the man and grunted in response, “You drive a hard bargain. Seventy-two hours, minimum.”

Luthor frowned, but shook the stranger’s hand, sealing the deal. Stormkrigeren silently watched the exchange and remained silent as the two men turned to leave her Room when Mr. Wilson looked back to address her, “Be ready, Student.”

“What for?” she asked, and he chuckled mirthlessly.

“I’m your teacher now. Be ready to learn.”

“But I still don’t know what you teach.”

Mister Wilson shook his head and honestly looked like he would rather strangle her than tell before crouching down to beckon her over. Stormkrigeren obeyed, observing him warily as he pulled a bowie from the sheath in his belt and held it up so her face was reflected in the steel. Stormy blue eyes stared back at her, scarred by the old pockmarks and ridges marking the blade, and it was then that she understood. “You’ll teach me how to… to kill?”

Mister Wilson’s lip twitched with the hint of a smile.

“No. I’ll teach you how to fight.”

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Her first lesson began early the next week when Mr. Wilson and his black duffel bag arrived to begin her ‘training’ as he deemed it. What she was training for, no one ever explained, but she wisely decided to go along with it.

Mr. Wilson was the fourth man she could ever remember meeting, but he and Herr Luthor were the only ones she saw often after Angklow and Lee limited their visits to once a month. Her new teacher was considerably different from Mr. Luthor in almost every aspect, except that both of them seemed to be permanently on the edge of lashing out, though Mr. Wilson was better at holding back. He also spoke less and looked her in the eye, and often would address her by name, which Stormkrigeren found a little odd. This was not to say that he was necessarily kinder than Stormkrigeren’s guardian, but he did seem to have a higher level of patience.

Upon his arrival, Mr. Wilson had made her stand in the center of the Room and interrogated her for nearly an hour in his harsh, clipped way in an attempt to discover how much she already knew. Her street-smart skills were not very developed (he could easily guess why, considering that it seemed like she never left the Rooms Luthor had made for her), but was well educated and had a good knowledge of physics and movement. She also spent some of her study time in the kitchen, so was familiar with the various types of kitchen knives and even knew the difference between a knife and a dagger (which was better than most kids her age). As promised, she was strong, resilient, and attentive, which Mr. Wilson valued highly. Despite his reluctance to take the job, Stormkrigeren would admittedly make a half-way decent student.

The first month of lessons were focused entirely on teaching the four-year-old how to throw an effective punch. The muscle movement, the power, the aim, the focus, offense and defense drilled into her little head until she could destroy a punching bag in her sleep with nothing but her fists. They trained mostly on the bag, though occasionally Mr. Wilson would suffer to get down on his knees and allow the child to try and knock him out. Stormkrigeren had a mean fist, but never managed to drop him, and when she had struck her blow, he would reply in kind. There was rarely a time when she did not at least stumble and often drop to the floor, but proudly refused to cry out and would promptly attempt to deck him again. Unlike most children who needed some form of weak encouragement to keep at a task, Mr. Wilson found that all Stormkrigeren required was a goal - and she would not stop until she reached it. 

One day, she did achieve the sacred objective by fending off enough of her Teacher’s blows to give him a solid black eye and force him to back down. Stormkrigeren had nearly been ashamed at first, but Mr. Wilson promised her that pain was a good thing as it helped one learn faster. He had concluded the lesson there and promised to be back next week to teach her how to kick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! My apologies for posting this chapter a day early, I am traveling again tomorrow and will be unable to upload, so I'm publishing this now so ya'll have something to read over the weekend! Please enjoy, and leave kudos and comments! I might upload a tiny bit late next week as the next chapter has been giving me a bit of trouble, but it's nearing completion and I will hopefully have it up by next Saturday!


	8. Rule #4: Do not back down from a challenge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Year Five

Mister Wilson was what Dr. Schreyer called ‘a mercenary’. Stormkrigeren wasn’t especially good at understanding what people meant when they said things, but she understood enough to know that the way Dr. Schreyer said the word meant that it was a bad thing. Which was a little bit odd, because everyone seemed to treat the man with a lot of respect.

Stormkrigeren didn’t think Mister Wilson was a bad person - if anything, she thought he was just a little mad. At what, she had no idea, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t mad at her.

She liked Mister Wilson. He was very quiet and didn’t talk a lot, which was okay because Stormkrigeren didn’t like talking much either. It was better that way - fewer sounds meant less ‘over-stim-you-lay-shun’ as Dr. Schreyer called, which basically meant that Stormkrigeren’s head hurt less than usual. Mister Wilson liked it for two reasons: less talking with your tongue meant that you got better at reading people’s body language - which was something that Stormkrigeren still struggled with - and it also meant that your ears could focus on listening for other more important sounds.

One important sound was breathing. Everybody did it, and no one could hold their breath forever (except maybe Stormkrigeren, who had accidentally figured out that she could hold her breath longer than even Mister Wilson when she really tried). Even so, it was still one of the best ways of finding a person was to shut out all the other noise and listen for their breathing. Slow breaths probably meant that they were asleep or unconscious, and quick, deep breaths meant they were scared or angry. Mister Wilson made her practice listening for his breathing by covering her eyes with a blindfold and having her try to find him using only her ears. It was very hard - even when no one was speaking, her Rooms were always full of noise.

Dr. Schreyer would always say that the Rooms were one of the quietest places that she had ever been in, but Stormkrigeren didn’t think so. There was always some machinery or light or door lock or water pipe that was tapping, buzzing, humming, clicking, gurgling, or making some small, barely audible noise that echoed in her ears incessantly. She hated all the sounds - they were always there, always being loud and drowning out the silence.

Her Rooms weren’t silent at all. They were very loud.

The lights were loudest. Across the ceiling of her main Room ran five rows of fluorescent tube lamps in protective casing (installed after one training incident involving some sharp gravel and maybe an over-excited Stormkrigeren), but the casing did very little to dull the buzzing of the lights. Even when the lights were off, Stormkrigeren swore she could still hear the buzzing as loud as if it were in her head, and the darkness only made it worse. The bright overhead lights would turn off every night, leaving her blind to the world and forcing her to rely on her ears instead of her eyes. But her ears weren’t much use when all they could hear was the damn buzzing, leaving her vulnerable and alone with a hundred sounds echoing all around her, so she was always deeply relieved when the lights turned back on the next morning and she could go back to using her eyes to watch for danger.

Stormkrigeren existed in a state of ‘brightest silence’ as Mister Wilson called it - constantly surrounding herself with light and a lack of sound would teach her to focus on the opposite. She had to always be on the alert for anything dark or loud or threatening to the carefully engineered isolation Herr Luthor had cocooned the Subject in. Her world was black and red and gray and silver and white, the colors of noise and light, or lack thereof. Her Rooms were the color of focus, because without focus there is no survival.

Mister Wilson didn’t like her Rooms very much. He thought they were too blank and sterile and presented no real challenge in terrain, which was true enough considering that they were just concrete walls with a floor, a ceiling, and some mirrors and doors. So after the first weeks of combat training - which hadn’t quite progressed past basic kicking and punching - he switched tactics and instead decided to focus on building up Stormkrigeren’s strength and stamina.

He never told her how he intended to do that, but she knew it had something to do with the pallet boards and bags of gravel he had requested that Herr Luthor have placed in the storage Room. Her curiosity was rewarded when her teacher arrived for the next training session with a black duffel bag slung over one shoulder, from which he removed a pair of hammers and a box of nails. They spent the next few hours nailing pallet boards together into makeshift obstacles, such as walls and the occasional small climbing tower, though it went much slower than Mister Wilson would have liked as he first had to teach his student how to use a hammer.

Stormkrigeren caught on quickly, and together over Mister Wilson’s next few visits, they managed to construct a decent ‘arena’ designed somewhat like a military training course. That’s where the gravel came in - they spent a full four hours spreading it anywhere there was open floor space, piling it up in some areas and spreading it thinly in others to imitate variations in terrain. The small, sharp rocks were much harder to move quickly over compared to smooth concrete, but to Mister Wilson, that was the entire point of not only practicing, but  _ living _ in such a different environment for a few days until his student was comfortable in it. Stormkrigeren needed to be able to adapt quickly to any physical obstacle she was presented with - be it climate, terrain, atmosphere, expanse, barriers, or even simply people themselves.

Dealing with social interaction was another lesson in itself, so Mister Wilson chose to focus on the more easily manipulated variables. Climate and atmosphere were both simple enough - Stormkrigeren’s Rooms had climate control systems that were advanced enough to range from scorching heat from in-floor heaters to torrential rain caused by overhead sprinklers, not to mention that they had originally been designed for the sole purpose of maintaining a balanced low oxygen/nitrogen level in the space. The training course student and teacher built together counted as both terrain (gravel) and barriers (the pallet board walls and towers). The expanse of a space, or lack thereof, was more of a psychological obstacle than a physical one, but was still just as important. Stormkrigeren had spent the entirety of her short life in a Room only slightly larger than a gymnasium, but because it was so empty, it often seemed larger. Filling it with obstacles would force her to develop a stronger sense of navigation and spatial awareness, and also get rid of any claustro- or agora-phobia that could arise. If Stormkrigeren could comfortably exist in any space or situation, she could focus easier - and focus was the key.

Student and teacher began training in the ‘arena’ the day after it was completed. Mister Wilson would map out a route for her to take over various obstacles and terrain, creating a sort of military-style course to test her strength and speed. Once he was thoroughly satisfied with the difficulty, he had Stormkrigeren memorize it as well as she was able before she took her place at the start of the course, fists clenching and unclenching as she prepared herself for the race against the clock. A short, sharp whistle from Mister Wilson and she’d be off.

Stormkrigeren was a quick runner, and though the sharp gravel hurt her bare feet, she did not allow the pain to slow her down. Within a few moments, she had reached the first obstacle - a towering wall of pallet boards with barely any room between the planks for her to get a grip, but she was tenacious and did not halt her progress until she had clambered up.

At the top of the wall, she had to drop a few meters back onto the gravel, then get down on her stomach to crawl beneath a rope net spread barely a foot above the ground. After that came another wall, at the top of which a steel pole was positioned horizontally with its far end resting on yet another tower of pallet boards. Without missing a beat, Stormkrigeren swung herself up to hang from the beam with her legs folded over it as she shimmied her way to the other side. Her muscles were burning now and she was panting hard, though she kept pace as she quickly crossed over a balance beam and through a winding maze of high walls.

The narrow passage suddenly opened up into a small open space where her next obstacle stood waiting - Mister Wilson himself, primed for combat with a karambit in his fist.

At a signal from her teacher, Stormkrigeren stepped forward only to duck beneath the blow swung at her throat. She instantly retaliated with a sharp sweeping kick at his ankles as the blade came down once more, but she lunged out of its path just enough that the steel only left a long cut on her arm instead of a gash. The pain was barely noticeable now that her blood was up, though she was not going to allow the wound to go unavenged.

Stormkrigeren raised her arm to fend off another one of Mister Wilson’s blows, and with the other aimed a solid punch at his jaw. Coming from so sharp an angle (that was the issue with being so much shorter than one’s opponent), her fist merely glanced off his chin, leaving only a bruise and causing Mister Wilson to stumble back for a moment, but it was long enough that Stormkrigeren managed to scramble away from the fight and on to the next obstacle.

It only took her a few minutes to reach the end of the course after completing a series of hurdles, another climb up a slippery pole and across yet another balance beam, before she finally managed to overcome the last wall that stood between her and the end of her first lap. A ten-second rest, and she went at it again.

Stormkrigeren managed a total of twelve laps that day, all but the last completed as fast as she was able. The short combat with Mister Wilson was definitely the hardest part of the entire course, though she managed to carry on each time with nothing more than a few scratches and bruises. When her teacher finally decided that she could go no longer, he declared the training session ended and Stormkrigeren was finally allowed a rest and some water. By the end of the session, she was covered in scratches, bruises, and splinters - not to mention she was still nursing some badly skinned knuckles - but the approval in Mister Wilson’s tone when he told her that they were done for the day made it all worth it.

They trained in the arena for three more days - more courses, more combat, more bruised shins, and skinned knuckles - until it was finally time to take down what they had built. Within a few hours, Stormkrigeren’s Rooms were once again empty and blank of anything but herself, and she was left waiting for the next lesson.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

The next day was a testing day.

Testing days were okay. They were the busiest day of the week because lots of people would come to Stormkrigeren’s Rooms to give her the test. It wasn’t actually a lot of people - just Dr. Angklow, Dr. Lee, and Dr. Schreyer - but it felt like a lot. They would make her sit down at her desk and answer all sorts of questions while Dr. Schreyer drew her blood: how was she feeling, did she feel any different from last week, could she remember anything in particular that they told her last week or a month ago or the year before, which number was Dr. Angklow pointing to on his chart, and how many times had anyone used the word ‘are’ or said a number in the last ten minutes (Stormkrigeren got very good at holding still while her blood was drawn during all of this).

After the blood samples were taken, Dr. Schreyer would do a few mouth swabs so that they could have some of her saliva and skin cells for testing, then there were some more measurements taken on her blood pressure, pulse and respiratory rates, skin density using a special poking-needle-thing, and the dolorimeter test. That was the worst part of testing day - the little box burned every time it touched her skin, giving her hard shocks that made her flinch if she wasn’t ready for it. But Stormkrigeren got very good at not flinching, and she always did her best to sit still and not make any sound until the testing was over.

The best part of testing day was when Dr. Lee would give her a snack that he always kept in his white coat pocket. Sometimes they tasted or smelled or looked weird, and she had to eat whatever it was with a pulse oximeter on her finger and another sensor on her throat, but Stormkrigeren was a good girl and ate as she was told. One time Dr. Lee brought peanuts for her, and another time it was shrimp, and the time after that it was some gross little beans called soy. She really didn’t like those, but Dr. Lee said that it was okay and gave her a glass of orange juice instead.

Sometimes there would be a long worksheet for her to do while her caretakers watched, and Stormkrigeren had to do her very best to get all the correct answers as fast as she could. The questions were sort of easy if she read through them slow enough - they were mostly based around reading comprehension and mathematics, and sometimes even a little calculus or translating passages from different languages that she knew. Dr. Angklow usually held a stopwatch while she did these tests, and he always seemed very proud when she finally put her pencil down, and all of her caretakers would say she was doing very well in her studies.

Sometimes Stormkrigeren would have to do tests even if it wasn’t a testing day. Those tests were very different and usually conducted by Mister Wilson during one of her training sessions. They weren’t always obvious and very often looked nothing like her other tests, but Stormkrigeren grew to recognize when someone was testing her reaction time or spatial awareness. An object flying towards her from across the Room wasn’t often part of their training, but she would catch it all the same before glaring in the direction of her Teacher who had thrown it, and they would get back to training.

The tests never stopped, to be honest.

On and on, day after day. Mazes and examinations and tests and procedures, cold calculations all designed to figure out what exactly made Stormkrigeren tick. She didn’t know what made her tick - she just knew that whatever it was made her different from every other person she saw. And Stormkrigeren wasn’t sure if she liked that.

She was treated differently. She had to live by herself in her Rooms and she could never go outside. She always had to sit still and be quiet and keep her mouth shut until she was given permission to speak - Dr. Schreyer never had to wait for permission to speak, she was always the one telling Stormkrigeren to sit still, especially during tests.

There was a word for it, a word to describe things like her that got shut up in a room and poked. It was a bad word, and it meant a lot of things - expendable, subject, expensive, creature, different, and so many more bad things, it hurt her head just to think about them. The word was ‘experiment’.

According to the Merriam-Webster dictionary Dr. Schreyer kept in one of the storage cupboards, an experiment was ‘an operation or procedure carried out under controlled conditions in order to discover an unknown effect or law, to test or establish a hypothesis, or to illustrate a known law’.

That made it sound like a good thing, something to help the world improve.

Maybe she was helping the world improve by staying in her Rooms and letting herself be poked.

Not that she could leave her Rooms, even if she tried. She couldn’t leave until the experiment was over, and Project Stormkrigeren was far from being finished. So Stormkrigeren had to stay and sit still when they poked her - not because she liked it (she hated it), but because she was a good girl and she was going to help the world improve, even if it meant being an experiment.


	9. Rule #5: Do not refuse to recognize authority

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! This is just a quick warning that this chapter contains a tiny bit of child abuse and emotional abuse, but it is well within the rating for this fic.
> 
> Year Six.

Except for the gray tile in her bathroom and kitchen, and the gray concrete all throughout, for the most part, her Rooms were completely white.

She asked Schreyer about it once, wondering why some other color hadn't been picked. Lisa had just replied something about white being a very clean color. Stormkrigeren decided that was an in-ad-eh-quate reason and it was probably because white was the color of focus. According to Mister Wilson, at least.

The Rooms were built to help her focus. She was distracted pretty easily, especially when the atmospheric regulator or the overhead lights hummed louder than usual (Lisa said the noise never changed volume, but Stormkrigeren _knew_ that it did). But she needed to stay focused on her work and use every moment of her waking hours as efficiently as possible in order to progress towards the 'project objective'. She needed to learn all of her books and pay close attention when Mister Wilson was talking or showing her something, because if she didn't, she wouldn't progress.

Alexander told her a quote once. 'Perfection is unattainable, but progress is.' He didn't tell her who said it. Stormkrigeren decided she didn't care - whoever said it was right, and that was all that mattered.

Herr Luthor once told her that everyone was put on this Earth for a purpose, and most people spend their entire lives trying to find theirs. Luckily, Herr Luthor already knew what her's was - he was smart like that, he had to be to build his own million-dollar company from the ground up. Her purpose was very simple: she was to be the perfect protector. Protector of what, he didn't say, so it must not have mattered much if he didn't mention it. Stormkrigeren politely pointed out that she can't be the perfect protector because perfection is unattainable.

He hit her for saying so. It hurt.

Herr Luthor and Alexander didn't visit her Rooms for a while after that, which wasn't exactly unusual, but the odd thing was that no one else did either. Mister Wilson did not come for her usual lessons, and Dr. Schreyer never came down from the Watching Room for the weekly physical examination and blood tests. No other visitors came through the door, meaning that besides the ever-present Watchers, Stormkrigeren was completely and utterly alone.

Stormkrigeren decided that being alone was a good thing (not that she necessarily liked it)(she hated it) because it helped her focus. There was no one around to distract her with questions or tests or their gusting breaths thundering in her ears, and no distractions meant it was easier to study. Or at least it should have been. There were no people with their loud breathing and constant questioning, but the atmospheric regulator and bright lights were still there - she swore they were louder than usual.

The fridge and small pantry in her kitchenette remained stocked with just enough food to keep her healthily fed. She had figured out early on that they were usually refilled through the shelves' false backs long after she had gone to bed for the night, so food-wise she was perfectly fine. She did her own laundry and most of the cleaning, so that was fine too.

Being alone in her Rooms was surprisingly… normal. She spent most of her days alone already, so the absence of human contact didn't seem to make much of a difference. Mister Wilson only came for lessons a few times a month for a few hours at a time. Herr Luthor and Alexander visited her every week or so, but never stayed longer than an hour. Doctor Schreyer was there daily for only a few minutes, though she was nearly always present in the Watching Room. Stormkrigeren could occasionally feel her gaze on her beyond the dark mirrored glass, but after Mister Luthor's visit a few days before, there had been a sort of... _dis-con-nec-tion,_ for lack of a better word. Lisa was still there, only a few meters away, always monitoring and remotely ensuring that the subject was in good health, but Stormkrigeren had no way to reach her caretaker if she needed her.

Being alone didn't scare Stormkrigeren - she was good at being alone. But being forcefully kept that way did.

Of course, it occurred to her that maybe they were just busy, maybe she was just imagining someone in the Watching Room, maybe her food stores weren't as usually stocked as she had believed. Maybe Mister Wilson was out on one of his 'contracts' as he called them. Sometimes they took longer than he expected, so that would explain why he hadn't come sooner, or maybe he had been injured again and was resting up for a few days. Maybe Herr Luthor was too busy with corporate meetings or business trips to make time for his regular visits, and maybe Alexander had too much homework to do to even think about stopping by. Maybe Lisa had something personal to attend to and couldn't make it to work for a little while, or maybe she had even been fired for talking back to Herr Luthor again (she had nearly been fired once before for doing so). Maybe Dr. Angklow and Dr. Lee had finally gotten those jobs they had applied for with S.T.A.R Labs. Maybe Dr. Shienne had to go overseas again for another conference and wasn't able to take the night shift in the Watching Room.

Maybe no one was watching. Maybe no one was coming to make sure she was still alive in there, locked up all alone in her Rooms. Maybe the Project had been canceled, maybe Herr Luthor decided her life's purpose wasn't worth fulfilling. Maybe she had been forgotten.

Almost no one knew she existed, those that did had already forgotten her.

They had forgotten her.

They had _forgotten_ her.

And they were never coming back.

Stormkrigeren decided that being alone wasn't as good a thing as she'd thought. She also decided that she depended too much on the kindness of her caretakers and superiors. Her life was an odd cycle - she obeyed and she was rewarded by having her needs met, she had her needs meet and she diligently obeyed. She hated to admit it, but she did in fact have a need for human contact - and it wasn't being met. The only reason she could think of as to why her caretakers weren't meeting it was that she must have disobeyed an order somehow and as punishment she had been forgotten.

She thought about this for a while. The shelves in her kitchen were slowly becoming bare, though she still had enough nutritional shake powder to last another week or so. She had completed all of her text- and work-books, but Dr. Schreyer hadn't come with any replacements. The combat drills Mister Wilson had taught her were quickly becoming easy and repetitive and understimulating. Unless someone came soon… she wasn't quite sure what would happen.

Stormkrigeren considered yelling or trying to climb up to the Watching Room's mirrored observation window in an attempt to get someone, _anyone's_ attention. She needed to know that there was someone up there, that she had not been forgotten, that she had not been left all alone. The problem was, she didn't know what to say in order to get them to reply. The problem was, she didn't know what to do if they didn't.

Mister Wilson always said that Stormkrigeren struggled with being patient. She often found it hard to stand still and be quiet and listen and not stim while someone was talking or taking her measurements or showing her something. Mister Wilson was always patient - he never stimmed or spoke too loud or moved too much, and he was constantly listening for anything that might present a threat. He taught her to listen too. All she had to do was stay very still and calm, and let her ears take in every sound that reached them, tuning out the ones she didn't want or need to hear so that she could focus on the important sounds. Important sounds were almost always quiet, like whispering and footsteps and doors and the soft swish of clothing or blades, so Stormkrigeren stayed quiet too in order to hear them better.

She listened for a long time, for anything out of the ordinary. She tuned out the humming of the lights and the atmospheric regulator, and the low distant humming of the small fridge in her kitchenette. She ignored the soft gurgle of water in pipes and the minute shifting of rebar in concrete overhead. She made herself deaf to her own heartbeat and slow breaths and blood rushing in her ears. She listened, sat still, and was patient.

Her patience was rewarded by sound. The sound of the door to the Watching Room opening with a hydraulic hiss.

She was on her feet in an instant, fists raised in preparation exactly the way Mister Wilson had taught her to address a threat, but instead found only Alexander standing in the doorway. Not Mister Wilson or Luthor, or even Dr. Schreyer - just Alexander staring at her.

Stormkrigeren automatically stood 'at attention' with her hands folded behind her back, resisting the urge to fidget at the sight of another person because _she had not been forgotten_ and _someone had come back_ , but she remembered to stay still and wait for permission to move. Alexander didn't give it immediately, still staring intently at her without even saying 'hello'. Mister Wilson had spent a long time trying to teach her to read other people's body language, and most days she still wasn't sure she understood. Right now she could tell she had got it wrong when she tried to read Alexander's - there was something off about the way he moved, like he was both delighted and furious at the same time, which must be wrong because no one could be happy and mad together-

Alexander stepped closer, still staring at her, or 'inspecting' as Mister Wilson called it - it just meant that Stormkrigeren had to stand very still until they were done or spoke to her. Not having much else to do and curious to look at someone she didn't see often, she inspected Alexander back. Lisa had told her that he was Stormkrigeren's senior by eleven years, though he was still a bit short for his age, but much smarter than many other seventeen-year-olds. He was also a bit shy, so his genius was not often apparent since he didn't talk much, especially around his father. Alexander always visited her Rooms with Herr Luthor, so it was a bit odd that he was there on his own, still 'inspecting' her and thinking hard by the look of it.

"Where's Herr Luthor?" she asked innocently, a little confused by the deviation from normal, before suddenly remembering that Alexander hadn't given her permission to talk yet.

He hit her for speaking up. It hurt.

The trained instinct Mister Wilson had drilled into her head took over and she allowed herself to go partially limp in order to roll with the fist when it made contact with her cheek. Her body moved as it had been trained - if a blow sent you to the ground, you retaliated with a sweeping kick to bring the opponent down to your level - so she retaliated without hesitation.

She realized her mistake when Alexander stumbled, though he quickly regained his balance, but in that brief moment, Stormkrigeren understood that she was both deserving of punishment and _afraid_. She had made a mistake, she had to sit still and let herself be punished, but the adrenaline pumping through her blood screamed _run_.

So she ran.

She scrambled to her feet and sprinted for the door to the side Room containing her kitchenette. There was no way she could win in a fair fight - she may have been stronger than him, but he had the advantage of height and weight, so her only chance to escape the beating was to escape him completely. She could figure out how to lock the door behind her, she could wait for him to leave or for Dr. Schreyer or Mister Wilson to come back, she could wait and be patient-

Dr. Schreyer had also told her that Alexander played basketball after school. He was light on his feet and had a knack for easily grabbing the ball out of the air. He had made the motion a thousand times, and it felt no different now to clench his fingers in a fist, to grab and pull back, except instead of grabbing orange rubber, he grabbed Stormkrigeren's dark hair.

To her credit, she didn't scream when Alexander yanked her back to him, but immediately jumped so that her skull knocked hard against his jaw and her heel rammed into his shin. Alexander screamed - yelled, more like - but otherwise made no response to her struggling and clawing at his arm when he caught her in a tight headlock. He knew exactly who his father had hired to train the little spitfire in knives and hand-to-hand contact, but the summaries of her skills didn't include much knowledge about _guns_.

Stormkrigeren fell still when she felt the weight against her temple - heavy, metallic, a little bit warm with his body heat after being hidden beneath his shirt - but didn't take her hands off the arm wrapped around her throat until Alexander forcefully shoved her away from him and up against the wall, the Glock never wavering from her.

"Don't fight back, Dee-Dee - at least not against me," Alexander said softly, the barrel of the gun trembling as he pointed it at her chest, "I promise you can fight back against anyone else who hurts you, anyone but me. Because I'm going to take care of you, Dee-Dee."

Alexander paused, his voice shaking when he moved closer to press the Glock against her ribs, the metal still warm through her thin shirt. "You just have to do what I say."

She nodded, slowly. She knew what guns could do. She knew that if she was truly honest with herself, she had no other choice.

"Stay still, Dee-Dee," he whispered.

She obeyed and remained still.

It hurt, but she was familiar with pain - it had been her lifelong companion in her short life. Pain was temporary. If she waited long enough, it would go away. Alexander would get tired eventually, too tired to hit her, and both he and the pain would have to go away. She was patient. She would wait.

Alexander was loud and was not good at listening. He yelled a lot of things when he hit her, but she never replied. Stormkrigeren simply kept her head down and gritted her teeth - he was too loud, too rough - but she was patient and did not try to hit him back when he called her bad things. Bitch. Bastard. Sickening. Undeserving. Thief. A waste of money. A waste of breath. Useless. Careless. Broken. Bitch. Bastard. Alien. Go back to where you fucking came from. No one wants you here. Go back to the stars, you fucking alien.

She wanted to tell him she couldn't go back to anywhere when she had always been here. But he hadn't given her permission to speak. He would hit her again for speaking up. It would hurt. Not that it mattered really - he was already hitting her. Across the face with his gun. Across the throat with his fist. Roll with the blow, don't let the full force of it hit you, roll with the blow. Sit still, be patient, obey.

Alexander was panting hard, but he hit harder and harder, both of them breathing in short, tortured gasps. She couldn't tell if he was mad or sad - his face was red and angry, but there were tears in his eyes. She didn't question it. He would get tired soon and would go away. She was patient. Alexander was loud.

"You were supposed to be my father's crowning achievement!" he screamed, the gun slipping from his grasp and clattering on the concrete floor as he continued in a softer voice, "But I guess now you're going to be mine."

Stormkrigeren looked up hesitantly from where she had sat obediently still and silent throughout the beating, unsure if eye contact would just anger him more or if it was safe to move out of his range in case he decided he was not finished. His words suddenly clicked in her brain as she took in the information, before nodding wordlessly in acknowledgment. She knew why no one had come, why she had been left all on her own.

"It's okay, Dee-Dee," Alexander murmured, dropping to his knees in front of her. Besides Mister Wilson, he was the first person she could remember who truly lowered themselves to her level, who looked her in the eye, who spoke to her as an equal and not as an object. She wasn't sure if she liked it coming from him, and she definitely didn't like his thin hand stroking the bruise blossoming on her cheek, but Stormkrigeren had learned early on not to say what she didn't like. She stayed quiet and listened instead.

"Pop's dead." Alexander told her with a sad grin, wincing sympathetically as she wiped blood away from a cut on her forehead, "I promise, Dee-Dee, he's gone now. He can't hurt you anymore. It's going to be okay, I'm going to take care of you now-"

He paused, a thought suddenly occurred to him, and a real smile slowly spread across his face. "Pop's gone. He's finally gone, Darcie - he can't hurt us anymore. The Rules may have changed, but the Game still continues."

"What game?" she couldn't help but ask quietly, still panting a little from the exertion of taking his blows. He was going to beat her again for asking, she knew it, she wasn't supposed to speak without permission-

Alexander only gave her another small smile, pitying her ignorance as he moved to pick up his gun from where it had fallen and hefted it lightly in his hand.

" _The_ Game. My Game," he said softly, "It's like chess, you see, but in more than two dimensions. The pieces are people and the world is my board. I am the King, but you, Dee-Dee, you are the Queen - the deadliest and most powerful piece in the game. The rewards are many and the rules simple: play exactly how I tell you, do not hesitate or ask why, just play quickly and obediently until we win. If you don't, I will give you a present."

As he said these last words, Alexander unloaded the gun and forcefully shook the clip, causing bullets to spill out onto the floor. He picked one up, grabbing her wrist to place it in her hand. "What is it?"

"Nine-millimeter... One-hundred-twenty-four grain with additional pressure… Winchester PDX Defender?" she replied after a moment, having identified the round by its markings, and Alexander nodded.

"Or you could just say bullet, but it's the same thing. A weapon of destruction - just like you."


	10. Rule #6: Do not fail to prepare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies, lads, it's a bit of a shorter chapter. Life has not been kind as of late, but at least I can still write.
> 
> Year Seven.

Though she never saw the rosy sunrise, every dawn found the little Project Stormkrigeren already hard at work.

Just like Mister Wilson had taught her, she began every morning by taking a minute to mentally map out her surroundings, which was simple enough as her entire world was only three rooms. The layout was simple and minimalistic - there were no bright colors or flashy designs to overwhelm her, and she liked it that way. Fewer distractions meant better concentration, and better concentration yielded to more productive thinking which allowed her to clear her mind enough to get a few hours of much-needed rest.

It had taken her a few months to adapt to a sleep cycle interrupted at random intervals, and despite Dr. Schreyer's extreme disapproval of it, Stormkrigeren found herself able to live off of those precious few hours with rarely any side effects. A morning alarm wasn't necessary as she woke up whenever she felt rested - or more often, too uneasy to fall asleep - and she would start getting ready for the day.

At Mr. Wilson's instruction, she had a varying schedule that constantly shifted, sometimes by hours, minutes, or even just a few seconds.

"It will teach you to expect the unexpected," her teacher had explained, "Living to a tight set of rules and deadlines will make you cocky - sure of what's about to happen next, and you'll let your guard down. You _never_ let your guard down - got that, Storm?"

She had simply nodded and clenched her fists a little tighter, promising herself that she never be caught unawares. And she rarely was.

Stormkrigeren knew everything that went on in her Rooms - which wasn't much because she lived there by herself and didn't have visitors very often, but she still prided herself in knowing the goings-on that occurred in every brightly-lit corner and getting as involved as she could. If Dr. Schreyer or Dr. Angklow or Dr. Lee or Dr. Shienne was there, she would try to help if they would let her, and sit quietly if they wouldn't. But most of the time they did.

Dr. Scheyer liked it when Stormkrigeren helped, and showed her how to do some of the tasks that went into keeping her Rooms nice, like making sure that the floor was swept and the counters wiped and the mirrors washed. Dr. Schreyer even let her help out in the kitchen Room, on the condition that Stormkrigeren didn't make a mess.

Since she had been tall enough to reach the counters in her small kitchen, Stormkrigeren had helped make and prepare her own meals - at first simple and half-ready ones, but now she made complete breakfasts for Alexander, Dr. Schreyer, and herself as part of her studies in Domestic Housekeeping. The tailored course included serving their meals as well, laying out the utensils and waiting on them while they dined, and only when they had left was she allowed to eat. She didn't mind too much as it often allowed for her to experiment with her food, leading to the discovery of her love for nectarines and soft pretzels, and absolute hatred of all things porridge.

Eating while she worked saved time and kept her hyperactive mind occupied, so barely any moments were ever spent in personal activities - not even daydreaming. If she was bored or under-stimulated, she would simply ask Dr. Schreyer up in the Watching Room for something new to learn. From the 5000-piece puzzles of various city maps to intricate ink calligraphy, everything was a lesson designed to increase and hone her skills, so her love of learning grew.

While a normal child would only just be entering school, Stormkrigeren had started as soon as she could speak, and within a few short weeks had learned to read at a second-grade level. From there, things began to happen quickly. Speeding through at least three grades every year with flying colors, it wasn't long till the six-year-old was learning at a college-level. She spent her days either at her desk or on the floor with her books laid out around her, poring over textbooks, thesis papers, study guides, and diagrams, gaining proficiency in every subject at an amazingly fast pace, her memory perfect and she never seemed to forget a single word.

Only a few months before, Stormkrigern earned her first doctorate in Technical Physics from Berkeley, and was already well on her way towards another in Mechanical Engineering from the California Institute of Technology's online curriculum. Most of the universities she had applied for questioned her distant learning style with its lack of definite knowledge of the student, and the fact that she never attended any ceremonies or conferences was yet another red flag, but she got the sense Mr. Luthor's deep pockets could be very convincing when it came to getting something he wanted.

Her studies weren't just mentally challenging, but physical as well, and Mr. Wilson was her Teacher. His lessons were odd and seemingly useless to someone trapped between white walls, but she soon learned that he never did anything without reason or good purpose. Silently hunting him in a dark room full of obstacles increased her detection skills. Teachings in psychology, camouflage, and acting taught her deception and the art of blending into one's surroundings. Minimalism and special diets trained her body to survive off of almost nothing, while the constant shifting of the weather in her Rooms helped her adapt to surviving in the extremes - yet all these were only the least of Mr. Wilson's lessons.

Mister Wilson was not always in town, or even in the country, but somehow he managed to meet the required hours Herr Luthor set for him and make time every month to give Stormkrigeren her lessons in everything he considered it worthwhile teaching.

Seventy-two hours a month, and often longer, he would train her in the art of combat. Those hours were usually split up over various visits, though sometimes there would be a training 'sprint' that could last for days on end, forcing her not only to learn, but to _live_ every word her Teacher instructed. And his most important lesson was to always be prepared.

A few months before, it had been decided that Mister Wilson would spend some of his hours with Stormkrigeren doing 'night training'. Stormkrigeren thought that a better phrase would have been 'blind combat', because the training wasn't always at night, but it was always dark when they sparred. The procedure was simple - Mister Wilson would enter her Rooms as quietly as possible after she had gone to bed, and Stormkrigeren would have to try her best to knock him unconscious. It was meant to reduce her reliance on her eyes for balance and targeting while increasing her ability to wake up from a dead sleep ready to fight for her life, but said 'night training' mostly taught her how to be patient and listen.

Sleeping was already something that she struggled with. Stormkrigeren was a light sleeper - the slightest sounds or movements would jerk her awake just before oblivion could take hold. She found it extremely hard to relax, even when Dr. Schreyer would give her medication for it, so she rarely managed more than a few hours of disturbed sleep. It was hard to relax when she was unconsciously waiting for his arrival.

Mr. Wilson was a master of moving silently, to the point where in the first few months of 'night training', she never woke up till he was right beside her bed. Eventually, she learned to be alert even when she was asleep, and to rely not on her eyes - which were utterly useless in the darkness - but on her ears. She learned to recognize his arrival by the dull click of the sliding kitchen door locking shut automatically, the suppressed shifting of rubber soles on the concrete floor, the light swish of metal leaving the scabbard as he drew his weapon, and Stormkrigeren would be on guard in an instant.

She knew that she would never stand any chance against his weapons and night-vision goggles with only her bare fists and keen hearing, but she always did her best. Yet sometimes one's best isn't good enough.

Most of her scars were earned this way - a pattern of past trauma covering almost every inch of her skin, but she never let the pain hinder her.

She never knew which nights Mister Wilson would be there, and he would always come when she least expected him. Stormkrigeren spent every night taut and restless, waiting for him to arrive for their battle in the dark, but nearly every night, her waiting would be in vain. He didn't come very often - just enough to keep her on her toes - but for some reason, Stormkrigeren found that she enjoyed the rare blind combat. Sometimes she'd lose within the first minute, and other times she'd survive for over an hour, gradually growing fiercer and better over the months of training. But it always ended the same way - with his blade at her throat. The lights would come on and he'd remove the old orange-and-black helmet to nod in approval before leaving with the words, "We'll try again tomorrow."

Once again, Stormkrigeren would be left on her own in the cold Rooms, staring at the red blood on the grey concrete as she gathered herself together again. After a while, she'd clean up the mess and return to bed. She rarely slept long, always waiting for the sun she never saw to come up so she could do it all over again.


	11. Rule #7: Do not possess any weakness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy, y'all! This chapter is about average length, and I had a load of fun writing and researching for it (I think this is the second-most research-intensive chapter I've ever done, with a future chapter taking first place). I hope you all enjoy it!

To call Mister Wilson her Teacher was both an understatement and the perfect description. The word 'teacher' usually referred to someone who taught - Mister Wilson not only taught her, but _developed_ her for what he simply called the 'project objective'.

His 'lessons', if they could be called that, could be defined as any instance in which Stormkrigeren could gain knowledge in some way, and consisted of every moment Mister Wilson himself decided to grace her Rooms with his presence. The second he walked through the door, before he even spoke to her or looked her way, the lesson would begin. She learned entrance and poise and posture, how to analyze every movement and lack thereof in a glance, how to intimidate and how to blend in, all simply from the way he moved into the Room. Mister Wilson taught by example with the occasional sharp but helpful remark, and Stormkrigeren was all too happy to learn.

Mister Wilson supposedly taught 'combat and personal protection skills' - or at least that was what she had overheard Alexander explain to her caretaker. Stormkrigeren didn't know much about personal protection (though sometimes she wished she had back when Herr Luthor used to visit her), but she knew that combat was supposed to be fighting. She also knew that after the first few months of only learning to punch and kick, Mister Wilson had stopped teaching her anything that looked remotely like fighting.

She asked him about it once, questioning why he had moved on from combat basics to seemingly unrelated subjects, like calisthenics and breath-holding and writing with a steady hand. Mister Wilson had merely grunted in response and told her she was holding the pen wrong, but afterward taught her a short krav-maga drill to practice on her punching bag. It would not be until his next visit a week later that he finally explained - Stormkrigeren was already designed and prepared to fight. She had a higher proprioception and reaction time than most people, balanced well, moved quickly, and was very quiet, all with little to no training. Her body was also physically perfect for a life of combat with her dense bones, high pain tolerance, powerful but compact lungs, steady stance, and naturally strong muscles that remained wiry enough to not weigh her down. Mister Wilson decided that she didn't need to focus too heavily on the physical basics, which were meant for the most part to condition one's body in preparation for harder skills, but that Stormkrigeren should make it her priority to condition her mind instead.

They began with simple tasks that might be required of her Outside of her Rooms. Mister Wilson brought large encyclopedias of star charts and maps and terrains, and a few times even a night sky projector to shine on the ceiling for her to study. He made her pathfind to safety through all sorts of imaginary landscapes and cities and oceans using only the invisible sky.

Next, he taught her swimming strokes and how to hold her breath for long periods of time without a pool, only a bucket of water to submerge her face in, and a bench to hold her body up while she performed the movements.

Mister Wilson also showed her which basic household cleaners could be combined to create quick-acting poisons and gases, which ratios of ingredients should be used to incapacitate, which ones should be used to kill, and how to clean up any resulting mess (dishwashing detergent and hydrogen peroxide worked well for blood on concrete or even carpet).

From the kitchen chemistry lessons stemmed a dive into the subject of poisons and toxins, especially building up a gradual immunity to both. Over a period of a few months, Mister Wilson occasionally administered small doses of powders or droplets for her to consume with her food, then they would practice some other skill while they waited for it to take effect, much to Dr. Schreyer's distress. Despite the danger, Stormkrigeren could proudly say that she had only thrown up eight or nine times during the immunity development, and otherwise had very few adverse reactions to anything Mister Wilson gave her besides maybe an upset stomach and a headache.

Mister Wilson requested for climbing handholds to be installed in one section of the northern wall of her Room, and Alexander relented soon after. On his next visit, her teacher brought with him a few boxes of oddly-shaped grips, and that day's lesson consisted of Stormkrigeren attaching each one to the wall under Mister Wilson's careful instruction. Once she was finished, the grips were painted white to match the wall they were on, and the floor was swept clean of any paint or dust from the drilling. Next, Mister Wilson sat her down and explained the physics of pressure, counter-pressure, leverage, balance, and friction necessary to carry herself from the floor to the roof as efficiently as possible. They did a few practice climbs, not very high up the wall, but enough to get her used to moving around on a vertical surface. She progressed quickly over the next few months, developing her balance and grip, doing climbing sprints using as few handholds as possible, and incorporating a daily climb into her schedule even after Mister Wilson moved on to other lesson subjects.

He also taught her to improve her body's physical speed and endurance with long sprints around her main Room, often through challenging obstacles or conditions. The rule was that Stormkrigeren must run as fast as she could for as long as she was capable - over high stacks of pallet boards or low stretches of sharp gravel, whether her Room was freezing cold or swelteringly warm, ignoring her body's protests that it was tired or hungry or thirsty - only continuing to run until she could run no more. Mister Wilson explained that most opponents would be much bigger and stronger than her, so the only way she could properly win a fight was if she had more stamina and speed than them. She would need stamina if she was being hunted or if she was chasing down a target - if she had enough stamina, she could outlast the opponent to the end. Speed was not as important - most people often confused 'speedily' with 'hastily', but 'hastily' was messy and could get you killed, while 'speedily' was precise and smooth and kept you alive.

"Take your time, Storm," Mister Wilson often told her when she was impatient, which she often was, "Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast."

He would then make her repeat the action or task as slow as she could bear, over and over and over again at minimum speed until she moved as smooth as a lake without wind. And slowly, he would allow her to work a little faster, her muscles retaining their fluidity as she gained speed. Once Mister Wilson was thoroughly satisfied that she could be relied on to maintain that speed and smoothness, they would move on to something harder.

Despite how much he valued the art of defense, Mister Wilson knew very well that no one could defend themselves from every blow thrown their way - that was what armor was for. The best armor was always durable and protective, but still highly customizable to one's needs and fighting style. Mister Wilson once brought his armor for her to look at and study, pointing out all the important parts of the orange-and-black-and-silver suit. It had hidden pockets for tools, sheaths for his weapons, and most importantly, his helmet to hide his face, house a small computer and communicator, and shield his head from any strikes from the rear. Different plating and materials were designed for different pieces - some were made of layered nomex, light and flexible so he could move easily with them on, and others were constructed out of heavy tri-weave kevlar reinforced by ultrathin layers of titanium so that they could protect him against stronger blows. The entire suit was designed with the sole purpose of protecting its wearer and providing them with the tools they needed.

In his following visits, Mister Wilson also brought along other materials and more examples of a variety of armor and tools for his student to work with. Under his experienced tuition, Stormkrigeren gradually garnered an understanding of the passive defense. She learned which pieces of armor were best for various fighting styles based on the wearer's required movement, weight, and arsenal, and what combinations of metals, plastics, and aramids protected effectively in all sorts of environments and situations. Some armor could be customized to defend in an ingenious or unexpected way - for example, one of Mister Wilson's prototype suits could create a sort of 'gravity sheath' powered only by stored kinetic energy, and he knew of a few fellow 'security consultants' who designed theirs to focus on digital espionage or even take a part in a fight by electrocuting any enemies that got too close to the wearer. Stormkrigeren was fascinated by the concept of a 'lightning suit' as she called it, and spent hours with her teacher designing and discussing various ideas for one, a few times even pulling together materials to construct a piece or two.

Of course, there was one thing more important than armor that worked perfectly with the fighter's needs - and that was their weapons. Mister Wilson found that both worked best when created by the person that would use them the most, so he considered it essential that she not only understand the art of armor-smithing, but bladesmithing as well.

They started off with a study of metals - their forging temps, carbon levels, tensile strength, crystallization, and more. After that, they moved on to actual forge work and welding, ensuring that Stormkrigeren was able to put the knowledge she had gained into practice. The tasks and weapons were basic at first - craft a small blade from an easier steel, maintain the perfect forge temperature, confirm that your blade was symmetric and well hardened - but Mister Wilson's challenges soon increased in difficulty. Forge a series of identical daggers, create a full-length wakizashi, and once even a pair of combat bowies specifically designed to electrocute any enemy upon contact thanks to a powerful battery in the handle and conductive filaments along the blade. Afterward came weapons testing, in which Mister Wilson's taught her to push her blades to their limits in tests of strength and edge retention and ability to take apart a sandbag dummy before her teacher would give his approval. Even after creating all of this to the best of her ability, Stormkrigeren was not allowed to use anything that she created after having confirmed that it was suitable for heavy use, and all weapons and armor were confiscated until further notice - though Mister Wilson promised that when she was older and had moved on to actual combat lessons, he might bring some of her work back to practice with.

Mister Wilson also took it upon himself to teach his student some more refined arts besides the basic skills she would need in the Outside. The first of these lessons began the day he brought two large and oddly shaped black boxes to her Rooms, sat her down on a stool, and showed Stormkrigeren the proper way to hold a cello bow. She struggled to play the instrument properly at first, her small, calloused hands unsure on the steel strings and soft wood, but she took to it slowly, then smoothly, and eventually with good pace. It only took a few months of practice before she could play the cello at an intermediate level and switch easily between hands, but still did not play nearly as well as Mister Wilson, who had complete mastery over his instrument. Though with more practice, her deft bow strokes and quick fingerwork gradually improved her cello playing - and her precise reflexes.

A few more 'useless' skills Mister Wilson had her practice were calligraphy and origami - not for mastery, but to improve her coordination and steadiness in her hands. A goal was presented to her, whether it be to copy a detailed paragraph or recreate a complex series of paper folds, and she was given mere minutes to complete it. Her hands were often scratched or ink-stained at first, but with time her mind became as sharp as the pen tip or paper's edge in her skilled hands. Not only did her precision improve, but also her puzzle-solving skills, and attention to minute details and measurements.

Mister Wilson also considered it of great importance that she understand the management of both time, money, and resources, so one lesson they both sat down on the concrete floor so he could teach her how to break down large tasks into smaller ones. She caught on quickly, her young mind much better suited to rigid organization than to the complicated art of fluid creativity. Together they wrote out every element of every task she was required to complete, compiling and summarizing and understanding till the day's tangled web became a pattern easy to follow. Mister Wilson also taught her to apply the organizational management skill in other ways, not just to neatening her schedule, but to predicting how long certain routines would take even if she had never done them before, and quickly calculating what resources would be required for what tasks, and how to gain those resources in the first place. With Alexander's approval, she began a part-time telecommuting job organizing the transportation of various LexCorp assets both internationally and domestically. The pay she earned went straight to a personal savings account, and Mister Wilson helped her write out a tax and personal finance plan that would hopefully help her accumulate a decent pile with a few years of work. He also trained her in the skill of transferring information or money digitally across borders, often untraceably as Mister Wilson often did for his regular job (he still refused to tell her exactly what he did, but Stormkrigeren knew that it had something to do with security, that it paid very well, and that she would eventually be able to take up a similar profession).

Partly related to her more 'essential' training was Mister Wilson's lessons in food preparation. He was a firm believer in the fact that Stormkrigeren's biggest strength was her stamina, and one of the most fundamental ways to maintain stamina was to make sure one had plenty of energy. This could be achieved by an efficient balance of vitamins/minerals, carbohydrates, antioxidants, protein, and healthy fat in a variety of high-calorie meals. The second priority in food preparation, besides energy and nutrient content, was how easy it was to consume on the move. Mister Wilson considered compactness a key essential, and made sure Stormkrigeren followed the rule of keeping her meals small and highly nutritious. That wasn't to say he was completely against large meals or 'comfort' food - in fact, Mister Wilson once admitted to her that Thanksgiving was one of his favorite holidays because he could spend all day preparing the bird. Comfort food was a rare treat though, and only deserved when the coast was clear and one could afford some time to let the adrenaline die down. But Mister Wilson relented, and along with some of his more 'essential' recipes, he took the time to teach her how to make creamy rice pudding - and afterward how to eat it on the run.

After all these lessons, when he finally decided that she was adequately prepared, Mister Wilson taught her how to fight.


	12. Rule #8: Do not commit to an action before you understand the consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I have a new chapter for you! This one is definitely longer than usual, though I have no idea how as this has possibly been one of my busiest weeks since August when I had to repatriate. I had to rush it to my beta reader last-minute, and she is an absolute hero and managed to find the time to confirm that yes, my stuff is still readable and I have not lost my mind. A LOT of research went into this chapter (probably why it's so long - I tend to get carried away when I'm researching), so I really hope you all enjoy it! Have an amazing week, guys!
> 
> Year Nine.

He considered the ‘traditional’ method of learning inefficient - there was far more room for error or developing bad habits when all you had to do was copy some vague moves with no real power behind the blows. So instead of teaching her in a way that was sure to guarantee her failure, Mister Wilson developed his own style of teaching instead.

Learning an art by example was slow and tedious work, and often the material had to be retaught when the student soon forgot it. Watching the moves performed and attempting to copy them was just plain idiotic since it didn’t require the student to put that much effort in - far different from a life-or-death situation where success was equal to giving it your best and more. Mister Wilson believed (having had plenty of experience on the subject) that the only way to effectively learn how to defend yourself was to actually have to go on the defense.

So one day he had given Stormkrigeren a knife. A ka-bar combat-utility blade, to be exact.

Next, he had knelt down to her level and showed the girl the proper way to hold it, walking her through forming the correct wrist posture and gently folding her fingers over the handle so that she had a good grip. They practiced grasping the blade for an hour or two, going over the best way to press her palm against the handle and hold her fingers just-so to prevent them from slipping onto the sharp metal, then Mister Wilson moved on to teaching Stormkrigeren how to make her grip lethal.

By now, the little girl had studied under him long enough to understand some basic blows and how to dodge a simple attack, but now her training ensued in full force.

Mister Wilson showed her no moves by example (unless, of course, she was really struggling, which was rare), but instead went straight into what was called a ‘spar’ - a typically short and instructional fight done for the sake of practice and/or training. That was not to say that her Teacher showed her  _ no _ moves and basically forced Stormkrigeren into a fight with no experience whatsoever, which was true in its own sense. Mister Wilson made sure to clearly telegraph his actions well beforehand, and all his student had to do was read, react, and defend.

He took his time and went slowly, giving her short, clipped instructions as they sparred - ‘sidestep’, ‘strike higher’, ‘protect your side’, ‘watch how you strike’, ‘duck, not lunge’, ‘keep your head up’, and many more. All of this was done in an effort to keep Stormkrigeren thinking and moving as quickly as she could to land the right blows. Mister Wilson also took the time to explain every movement he made, from the curl of his fists down to the shifting of his stance, pointing out how the former gave him more power and control over his punches while the latter lowered his center of gravity and increased his stability.

He made sense, and Stormkrigeren liked that - not a lot of things made sense, and all too often, it felt like she was being kept in the dark. But Mister Wilson was a good Teacher, and having nothing better to do, he ensured that his student at least knew what she was doing.

If her form was good, her Teacher would point it out and suggest ways of possibly improving it even more, giving her tips on movements and muscle control. Yet if she made a mistake, she knew so immediately, alerted to the issue with a hard knock and a bruise from the flat of whatever weapon Mister Wilson was training with that day.

When the lessons first began, both Teacher and student started off with two weapons each: a simple knife, and themselves. Mister Wilson intended to focus heavily on teaching her what an unarmed body could do when wielded correctly, getting the very basics of combat into her head as they worked on perfecting her kicks, fists, and dodges to build a solid foundation for the next step of her tuition - the knife was honestly just to see if she could punch a man without cutting herself on it (she could).

As time went on and both Stormkrigeren’s lessons and skills progressed, Mister Wilson began to introduce her to open- and closed-hand combat. The former required much more precision and focus than the latter, but allowed for a wider range of movement and did not require quite as much energy as closed-hand. The downside was that while the open methodology was excellent for defense, it did not have the stability or power that a closed-hand could do on the offense. Krav Maga was the perfect combination of both forms, being the most efficient and having the widest range of all of the main methods of hand-to-hand combat, so it became the basis for a majority of her lessons without weapons.

That was not to say that they did not use any - Mister Wilson was well familiar with the essentiality of a good sword, or even a bo-staff, but he had chosen to introduce his student to combat with only her fists to protect her until she was comfortable with fighting unarmed before they moved on to more deadly tools of war.

Mister Wilson started her out on the ka-bar he had given her, being the simplest and most effective combat weapon for someone of Stormkrigeren’s size and experience. She had a pretty good grasp of how it could be used in deadly ways, and within a few months was able to wield it nearly as well as Mister Wilson himself - combined with her fists, a ka-bar in each hand could be lethal.

Recognizing how well she adapted to the knife, her Teacher brought a few more short blades for them to train with, including push daggers, tiger’s claw karambits, and dual kukris which Stormkrigeren enjoyed nearly as well as the ka-bars. She might have even taken to carrying one just as Mister Wilson always carried a karambit in his belt, if it had not been against the Rules for the Project to have any weapons outside of training for fear that she might use them. Seeing her disappointment at the news, her Teacher simply brushed the subject aside and announced that next lesson they would begin working on swordsmanship.

They started with the Chinese  _ dao _ \- actually, it was a short  _ liuyedao _ variation of the sword, but Mister Wilson eventually worked her through many alterations of the same basic blade. The weapons themselves were not only meant to improve her skill as a swordswoman, but to teach her the minute differences between them and how those same differences could define between something that cut cleanly or thrust deeply. A curve or a sharpened edge or heavy handle could mean all the difference and end a duel in a single movement if put to its best use - and Stormkrigeren learned how to find it.

Of course, the next logical step up was the  _ dao _ ’s distant cousin, the katana - which also happened to be Mister Wilson’s blade of choice. He owned a pair of high-carbon blades custom-made to fit with his swift and vicious fighting style, and had even brought them to her Rooms once or twice for Stormkrigeren to study during her lessons in bladesmithing. Now he brought them not just to examine, but to train with. His student, on the other hand, was still a bit on the young side to use a full-length katana, so had to be satisfied with the lighter and shorter wakizashi. Unsurprisingly, when trained by a master of the art, Stormkrigeren became exemplary and proficient in it as well.

More weapons were added to her repertoire of experience, if only so that she could fight decently well with anything at hand. That was possibly the most dangerous situation for anyone in Mister Wilson’s line of work - having years of training in only one aspect of combat, but no knowledge of anything else so when deprived of their usual weapons, they became as helpless as if unarmed. So in order to avoid this, her Teacher focused on ensuring that his student understood how to use anything that was given to her - he showed her how to accommodate for length or weight, find which edge was best for slicing, which part was best for blunt trauma (which could still be fatal when wielded correctly), and even how to use normal, non-weapon objects in unexpected ways. Stormkrigeren had already shown an interest in ranged fighting, specifically throwing knives from their training with shorter blades, and got very good at using a hatchet in close quarters and even from a distance. She also had an affinity for unarmed combat simply because carrying and concealing anything bigger than a knife could be troublesome, so Mister Wilson took advantage of the preference and taught her how to use brass knuckles in dangerous ways, then building on previous lessons, how to break bone even without the advantage of steel on her fists. He had not expected her to be able to crack his jaw (damnit, it’d hurt, but at least it healed quickly), though deep down, he should have expected that from a girl who not only healed even faster than him, but tended to snap solid steel blades without even trying and could catch movements not even her Teacher with his enhanced senses could perceive.

Despite her quick thinking and attention to detail, Stormkrigeren learned and processed things a bit slowly, so training often took far longer than Mister Wilson would have expected. Still, her lagging progress did not deter her and the student dutifully carried on, even when it felt like she was getting nowhere. With only a blade in her hand and wrath in her heart, she continued to fight what she already knew was a losing battle against someone not only much stronger than her, but far more experienced too. That was why Mister Wilson was the Teacher, after all.

Stormkrigeren did not know it at the time, but as their lessons carried on, Mister Wilson taught her nearly fifty forms of fatal combat over the course of five years, and she would learn many more in the times ahead - open-handed, closed-hand, with a weapon, and without, swordsmanship, marksmanship, and anything else that Mister Wilson could teach her that was involved in quickly and efficiently destroying one’s opponent. Her skills grew with each passing week and the training sessions that accompanied them, her Teacher’s tests slowly but surely honing her mind and sharpening her body, conditioning the small girl to think and act as her Teacher did - always wary of any threat, yet never caught off guard.

Through these years of training and under Mister Wilson’s attentive eye, Stormkrigeren developed her own preferred method of fighting. She mastered her own body well, and could fight nearly as well as her Teacher without a weapon, but still had a special liking to combat knives. Swords were another matter, and although she enjoyed the range and versatility of a longer blade, she never could decide on a particular style (though wakizashi and  _ liuyedao _ ranked high for more reasons other than that she had experience with them). But even without a preference, Stormkrigeren was still a force to be wary of when she had not just one blade, but  _ two _ \- dual-wielding was a skill not to be taken lightly.

She was an odd little thing as far as young children went, and not just because she could swing two knives in the same movement or her otherworldly origins. Mister Wilson had raised one or two kids himself, and was well familiar with the fact that they needed a pretty strong motivator to force them to get something done (threat of punishment worked pretty well, though rewards such as favorite foods or activities could be strong stimuli too). But Stormkrigeren was a bit different.

She could almost be described as a ‘point-and-shoot’ sort of child - point her at a task or goal, and off she would go, pouring all of her effort into it until she either failed beyond repair or succeeded admirably, all without any expectation of reward. At their first lesson, both Mister Wilson and Herr Luthor had unwittingly aimed the small girl at the goal of not just becoming an excellent fighter, but even surpassing Mister Wilson himself. Every time her Teacher suffered to pick up his blade or his fists and practice with her himself, it set a small flicker of hope in Stormkrigeren that  _ this might just be the time that she won _ .

It never was. But somehow, she still enjoyed the constant lessons in combat - and even if there was no chance of her ever beating Mister Wilson at something he had been doing longer than she had been alive, Stormkrigeren was still determined to excel at one of the very few things she found pleasure in.

She was not quite sure  _ why _ she enjoyed it. Maybe it was because she enjoyed the exercise, pushing her body as hard as she could just to feel the soreness afterward and know that she was getting stronger. Maybe it was something to keep her mind and body occupied, and distract her from the white walls and gray ceiling looming all around her - it gave her something to get good at, something to perfect. Maybe it was only an activity, something new to do when studying got too tedious. Maybe it forced her to focus and think clearly and block everything else out when she was too busy reacting to blows swung at her throat, maybe it kept her out of her own head. Or maybe it was just because Stormkrigeren needed someone to talk to, and Mister Wilson just so happened to be willing to listen.

Never in a million years could he ever fit into the tightly defined category of ‘friend’ to Stormkrigeren (she had far too much respect for him to even consider it), so remained simply her Teacher. Not that it was a bad thing - despite his rough and indifferent bearing, Mister Wilson was one of the few people she found she really enjoyed spending time with. He actually looked at Stormkrigeren when he was speaking to her, and took the time to ensure that she understood everything he said and did, even when it hurt her.

No one expected her to  _ not _ earn at least a few scars and scrapes from their combat training, and even a few more injuries from sparring, so it had become a common occurrence for Stormkrigeren to be bleeding in more than a few places while Mister Wilson hadn’t so much as a scratch on him. Still, her Teacher had to be the most careful person she had ever met, because not once had he ever injured her in a way that turned out to be severely debilitating or take longer than a few months to heal - which was saying something because it took an awful lot of precision just to swing a blade with good form, let alone control the force and depth with which it struck.

And though he never said it out loud and her blood on the floor might argue otherwise, Stormkrigeren slowly came to understand that even if Mister Wilson was not her friend, he was still a faithful ally and good teacher who deep down meant her no harm. The pain he brought was a lesson, and he only wanted to see her learn.

But Mister Wilson was not always around to conduct those lessons and teach his student the art of combat, so besides the occasional visits from her caretakers, Project Stormkrigeren spent a vast majority of her time alone.

And being the good student that she was, she used that time well.

When Mister Wilson wasn’t around to teach her, Stormkrigeren taught herself. She quickly figured out that continually practicing whatever movements or methodology she had learned in previous lessons helped to keep them in her head, not to mention that once her muscles were used to something, they were much more willing to do it again. Mister Wilson called it ‘drilling’, and often when he was present, he would show her two or three routines to do while he was gone.

They were usually pretty simple - a few kicks, a few punches, maybe a dodge or two to avoid imaginary blows, and the occasional sidestep before it was followed up with a few more kicks and punches. Nearly every routine Stormkrigeren performed was some variation of this, though by adding more dodges of kicks or blows with a particular angle or form, the general pattern could be adjusted to work specific muscle groups or skills. Routines were adaptable and targeted, just as she was training to be. And the more Stormkrigeren trained, the more she improved.

Not a day went past that did not see her practicing in some form, often multiple times throughout her schedule. Routines became… well, routine for her - a regular part of who she was and what she did. If Stormkrigeren had a spare moment, she spent it throwing punches at the air or lunging to avoid unseen dangers. She kept herself moving constantly, performing every step and movement, kick and dodge, drilling all of it into both her memory and her muscles. There was always the urge to do it all better, or faster, or even yet another set, or all of it together at once. Every moment Stormkrigeren spent training was another moment closer to her Teacher’s return and the day when she might just become strong enough to fight him, and  _ win _ .

(Because even though she denied it and had far too much respect for Mister Wilson to ever want to truly see him beaten, there was still some small pleasure in trying to best the man who taught her everything she knew.)

And after months of training and drills and routines whenever she was able, something still felt… a bit  _ unusual _ , to be honest. Of course, Stormkrigeren had partly expected to grow at least a little bit stronger and maybe marginally faster as she pushed her body daily, but she hadn’t expected pain to  _ hurt _ any less.

Pain was supposed to hurt - and it did, but somehow not as much as before. As the weeks of training progressed into months, she found herself becoming more resilient to it. Burns and scrapes and cuts were still distractingly uncomfortable, though it was easier to ignore them now. Additionally, something was wrong with her skin - it was still smooth and pliable and, well,  _ skin _ \- but for some reason that still escaped her, Stormkrigeren found that she was harder to injure. During training, she could still feel the lash of Mister Wilson’s steel blade against her skin when she failed to dodge a blow quick enough, but what should have left a wound in need of stitches now only left a deep scratch. Scrapes and bumps had been a normal part of her life for as long as she could remember, but a day came when Stormkrigeren realized that she rarely even  _ bruised _ anymore.

That wasn’t even the most disturbing thing about the whole situation. Stormkrigeren, admittedly, wasn’t very good at understanding what people meant when they didn’t talk - body language was something she had always struggled with, but that wasn’t to say she couldn’t recognize fear when she saw it.

It was visible in the slight widening of Dr. Schreyer’s eyes when she came to do the weekly medical examination only to take readings she herself didn’t understand, and in the doctor’s uneven step as she moved uneasily around her subject. Stormkrigeren wouldn’t have gone as far to say that Lisa was  _ afraid _ of her - she hoped Lisa wasn’t afraid of her, she liked Lisa, she was nice and very quiet - but the hesitation was still there. Somehow she hadn’t noticed exactly when Dr. Schreyer stopped treating her like a small, sensitive girl and more like a strong, but dangerous young woman. It was a big change. Stormkrigeren wasn’t sure if she liked it.

Their interactions themselves had not changed much - there were still the few medical tests and readings to be taken every few days, and Dr. Schreyer’s occasional unscheduled visits to her main Room for nothing more than a ‘check-in’ as she called it weren’t entirely out of the ordinary. But there was a new wariness in her caretaker’s demeanor, a look not altogether unlike the one Stormkrigeren had when dealing with something she did not quite understand or trust. It was a look that told Stormkrigeren that somehow, just maybe… she wasn’t  _ normal _ .

Looking back, it should have been obvious from the start. Normal people didn’t get shut up in white Rooms to be tested and taught and poked and have their blood taken and be forced to fight someone like Mister Wilson for ‘training’ (not that she didn’t like fighting Mister Wilson - he was rough and interesting, but he was in no way normal). Stormkrigeren’s distinct lack of normalcy was the very reason for her Rooms in the first place, not to mention the weekly blood tests and medical scans.

It did not take her long to realize that she was being studied.

But as to why she was under such intense scrutiny to the point of being locked away from the world, Stormkrigeren hadn’t the slightest idea.

She didn’t have much time to question it as her days were always packed with training and testing and drills and studying and writing and practicing and learning and fighting, so much so that the only quiet moments Stormkrigeren ever got were those in the twilight of sleep. By then, she was too exhausted to do much more than lay down on her mattress and either wait for Mister Wilson’s arrival for night training, or try to get as many hours of slumber as she could. Survival was the priority - questions could wait.

She did not question the fact that Mister Wilson very rarely came for lessons on a regular basis - that was just how the world was, and Stormkrigeren had no business wondering ‘why’ about something she already knew.

Teaching Stormkrigeren was not Mister Wilson’s main occupation - more an extension of it, if anything. Her teacher was a mercenary, and a good one at that, so whenever he received what was called a ‘contract’, it usually meant that he had to go away for a while. It might be a few days, or even weeks where Stormkrigeren would not see him, but that was alright because she knew he was coming back. He’d promised.

Within the month, Mister Wilson would be back in her Rooms with a new lesson, there to both keep his promise and meet the hours Herr Luthor had required of him in order to earn his pay for teaching the little girl how to fight. Sometimes, if it was early on in the month, Stormkrigeren’s lessons would only last a few hours before Mister Wilson would pack up his kit and leave again to return the next day. Other times, when he only had a few days left to reach his required hours, Mister Wilson might spend nearly a week solid training her without a moment’s rest for either of them, pushing the limits of Stormkrigeren’s stamina and endurance in day-long sprints of drilling. But on occasion, when Mister Wilson decided that Stormkrigeren was finding the usual training too easy (which was rare), he might dedicate his hours to night training instead. It was unexpected, to be sure, but Stormkrigeren soon learned how to fight back even when she was blind and caught off guard, so if anything, most of Mister Wilson’s most productive hours with his student were spent in said night training.

But despite however long the instruction lasted, Mister Wilson still spent a vast majority of his time out on contracts and killings, leaving Stormkrigeren to practice whatever drills he had taught her last while she waited for the next lesson. She was left in her Rooms, and her Teacher would go back to his usual job as a ‘security consultant’.

Stormkrigeren was, unfortunately, a bit too clever for her own good and it did not take her more than a year to figure out what exactly her Teacher was. But if she was perfectly honest, she was not entirely sure what being a ‘mercenary’ entailed, except that it involved a lot of traveling and a lot of fighting. The next time he came for lessons, she begged Mister Wilson to tell her more, pointing out that since he was training her to be just like him, she would have to know at least what she was getting into.

Mister Wilson had genuinely chuckled at that, and asked where the hell she had gotten the notion that he was training her to be anything like him.

The answer was obvious: you could only teach another person a subject you yourself understood well. Mister Wilson was an expert mercenary (or ‘merc’ as he sometimes called it), so it was only logical that he should teach Stormkrigeren how to be one too. And being the good student that she was, she asked as many questions as he would allow about what Mister Wilson did during his time Outside.

Mister Wilson grumbled a bit and tended to scowl whenever she talked too much (which was extremely rare, considering that Stormkrigeren didn’t like talking and really opened her mouth when she thought it was worthwhile), but eventually her Teacher decided to answer the persisting questions and told his student that he spent his spare time taking contracts. A ‘contract’, he explained, was nothing more than an agreement between Mister Wilson and another person who needed a job done. That job was usually finding someone who had done the world an immense wrong, such as neglecting their purpose or blocking an individual from completing theirs, and then Mister Wilson would ensure that the someone never did so again. And the most efficient way of doing so was to kill them.

Here her Teacher had paused in his explanation, eyeing Stormkrigeren as if he expected her to be surprised or frightened by the news that Mister Wilson was nothing more than a contract killer, but she did nothing more than nod. It made sense - there was just no stopping some people, and if the wrong was great enough, letting the wrongdoer carry on could cause more deaths than theirs alone. And one death, Stormkrigeren knew, was always better than a hundred.

There was, of course, the argument that by killing a killer, Mister Wilson himself became a killer and the number of such people in the world remained the same. But Stormkrigeren had done her fair share of math homework (she was very proud of her long grade transcript with its solid line of A’s), and had, in fact, been discussing with Dr. Schreyer the possibility of attempting a degree in accounting just to put her skills to the test, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Stormkrigeren could count, and she knew that while one killer killing another meant there was still one killer left, but one killer killing a hundred other murderers put the overall count down by ninety-nine, which was a decent amount.

So Mister Wilson was actually doing the world a service through his gruesome but necessary job - and for that, Stormkrigeren was proud to call him Teacher.

And though he may have been fearsome (and in his student’s eyes, nigh on inevitable), there were times when Mister Wilson would return from one of his said contracts with something just the tiniest bit off about him. Maybe it was a slight limp or unsteadiness, or maybe his blank glare was a little too blank or showing signs of a concussion, and more often than not, it turned out to be an injury. Stormkrigeren’s Teacher, no matter how strong and simply undefeatable he seemed, was still vulnerable.

He  _ could _ be injured, he  _ could _ be hurt.

And deep down, Stormkrigeren wanted to be the cause of at least one of those wounds. Not for the sake of harming the man who had taught her so much and did his purpose well, but for the sake of being able to say that she  _ could _ and she  _ had _ hurt someone who was supposedly unable to hurt at all.

Because that was Mister Wilson’s purpose. Stormkrigeren’s might have been to protect, but her Teacher’s was simply to fight. And his student would fight back, if only just to say that she had fought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick Update: I really hope to have the entirety of this fic done by the end of December, so there is a good chance it will be fully uploaded on December 31st. That's a really important day for me, because:
> 
> a) Dec 31 is sort of a big day in my fic community - a lot of stories go up on that day!
> 
> b) It'll be the last day of this insane year and the beginning of 2020: Part 2 (aka 2021)
> 
> c) Dec 31, 2019 is the birthday of Red Capes: Saviors!!
> 
> d) It's also my birthday!! I get a free drink at Dutch Bros! And from Starbucks! And I think a donut from Dunkin!
> 
> Totally not related to the fic, but please comment below with places that you know of that have free things on your birthday because I am a poor fic writer and my party budget is basically only enough for the gas money to drive to all of the above-mentioned places. Also please comment about the fic!! I love answering questions and talking to people!!


	13. Rule #9: Do not neglect or avoid your purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HALLO! I hope you all are having a wonderful December! Mine has been absolutely insane as of late, though it's slowly working itself out. Quick heads-up that the next chapter might be a tiny bit late as this coming week is a little busy for me so I won't have as much time to write, but we are still on schedule for the entirety of Brightest Silence being uploaded on December 31st!
> 
> Also, super (not) quick chapter explanation before we get started: there is a new character (non-OC) in this chapter who is known as Mother. Despite being a pretty powerful character in the canonical DC Universe, she is not mentioned very often, though some of you who have read Batman & Robin: Eternal will be aware of Mother. But for those of you who don't, her background is basically that she is one of the lesser-known but more powerful secret engines of the DC universe (there are a couple of underground background forces, the most prominent being the League of Assassins/Shadows and recently Leviathan), but of all of those, Mother has got to be the most widespread. Her story is told in the most detail in Batman & Robin: Eternal (a comic series, so Mother ain’t canonically part of the DCEU, the fandom this fic is part of), but long story short she adopts any and every orphan she comes across, trains them to work and/or kill for her, and her children go out into the world to become either prominent members of society who make decisions in Mother’s favor, or find and train more children for her. She’s playing the long game and changing the world by changing the culture instead of the government like most secret engines go for. And Stormkrigeren is just the sort of child Mother would be interested in. I hope that sums it up pretty well for you guys, please enjoy and leave comments!!
> 
> Year Ten.

His father’s discovery was supposed to have remained a secret for at least a little while longer, but he should have known that it was nigh on impossible to keep secrets from Mother.

It took less than three months from the day of the crash for word to reach her of what millionaire oil baron, Alexander Luthor, had found in the mountains - which was incredibly slow, considering how many children Mother had watching the man. But being the gracious and patient Mother that she was, she decided not to approach him quite yet and went back to tending her children until the time came to make her move.

Then Herr Luthor lost his life in a tragic car accident, and the junior Alexander Luthor rose to power. Still, Mother bided her time.

Until finally, the time came.

Alexander Jr., or ‘Lex’ as he preferred to be called, should have known this would happen. In fact, he had known - he had just failed to prepare for it, which was idiotic of him and deserved punishment. But Mother was merciful, and simply smiled at Lex’s look of shock on his face when he marched into his father’s study to find her sipping butterscotch bourbon on the sofa, ten years to the day of his father’s discovery.

He stared at the petite older woman who had somehow broken into his home, the definition of refinement and maternalism with her black cashmere pantsuit, artfully graying hair, and gentle smile. Lex, on the other hand, had just come from work and looked a mess in his crumpled blazer and unruly russet hair, and still hadn’t said a word since he’d burst into the room. Mother was about to tell him that it was rude to not greet his guest when he finally did manage to stammer out, “Mother. What are you doing here?”

True, he had never met her and had probably hardly heard of her, but Lex was genius enough to know when he was in the presence of one of the most influential people on the planet. Mother only nodded as if approving the question, and sipped quietly from her glass of bourbon, probably from the late Luthor’s liquor cabinet.

“Good evening, Lex. Thank you for asking - I’ve been doing just fine,” she answered simply with the barest hint of sarcasm in her silky voice as Mother set her glass aside, “As for your question, dear, I’m here to see how your Project is progressing. I’ve heard so much about her, and I thought it might be finally time that I set eyes on her myself.”

“The Project,” Lex repeated dumbly, still a little in shock to find  _ Mother _ of all people requesting to see what he’d been working on - though to be honest, he should have expected it. “You mean Darcie?”

“What I mean is that little girl you’re keeping locked up in a lab and teaching how to kill,” Mother answered, rising to her feet, “She won’t be of much use to you for anything if you don’t let her outside sometimes - what do you even plan to do with a child that has never seen the sun?”

It was at that moment that Lex managed to overcome his surprise and stand up a little straighter, his resolve returning to him as he answered, “Darcie’s a weapon, Mother. She can’t be let outside until she’s done training, or-”

“Or what?” Mother interrupted him, watching Lex fidget under her gentle gaze. And no matter how much he hated his own silence and cursed under his breath through gritted teeth, he could not come up with an answer to her simple question.

Mother was not surprised, but gentled her tone as she answered for him, “Lex, darling, if you can’t control her, then she’s not a weapon - she’s a threat. And even if you could control little Darcie, what would you do with a weapon like her? What would you aim at?”

Lex was again unable to answer, picking nervously at the hem of his blazer and looking like an utter fool in front of a woman he had met barely two minutes ago. It was infuriating and had she not been there, Lex likely would have punched something if only to make his rage real and not a trembling emotion bottled up inside his head - and Mother, of course, knew exactly the torment that he was going through. She had raised more than her fair share of little boys, and knew exactly what the poor lad in front of her was reaching for, what he was trying to achieve by the training of the girl. Lex, like all young boys, was looking for comfort - an escape from the abuse his own father had scarred him with, and the only way he knew how to do that was to annihilate everything and everyone that had hurt him. The only problem was, Lex himself didn’t know that.

But Mother did - and like any good mother, she would do her best to help him.

“It’s alright if you haven’t made up your mind yet,” Mother assured him gently, “Let’s go see her, and then I will help you to decide.”

Lex only nodded and led her towards the door.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Lex was not a fan of dark rooms or empty buildings - just walking into one set him on edge. Which was exactly why he made sure that all of his regularly-visited branches of LexCorp remained well lit and staffed with security guards twenty-four-seven.

Even past midnight in a scientific center on the edge of Metropolis, there were two or three people patrolling the area when Lex pulled into the Research Park’s north lot, nodding and greeting him with a cordial ‘Mr. Luthor’ as he and his companion made their way to Research Laboratories Building #5.

Mother followed close beside him, observing her surroundings with keen interest as Lex led her through the main hallway past various laboratories all locked up for the night, before they finally reached a service elevator for delivering items to the building’s upper floors. The pair stepped inside when the doors opened, Mother neatly folding her hands behind her back as Lex fumbled with a keycard from his pocket, then finally managed to tap it against the correct spot in a seemingly blank section of panel.

The doors closed in response, and instead of moving upwards as the buttons might have indicated, the small room dropped downwards instead. After a few long moments of descent, nearly silent except for the nervous tapping of Lex’s shoe against the floor, they finally came to a halt. The elevator had hardly opened before the young man had forcefully stepped out into the low concrete hallway leading to the Watching Room, marching quickly to the steel door opposite and shoving it open without another thought while Mother followed at a sedate pace.

Doctor Schreyer, of course, was there - Lex should have expected that, Lisa was nearly always there keeping an eye on the Subject - and she jumped up out of her seat at the sound of the door slamming against the wall. Her sharp gaze recognized him immediately, and she might have told the young man off for being so loud so late at night, if not for two very important reasons:

A) the junior Alexander Luthor was not only her boss and paying her salary, but as Lisa was well familiar with, he also had a tendency to get very cross when someone pointed out his wrong-doings.

And B) a petite, silver-haired woman chose that moment to appear in the doorway behind Lex, the sight of her suddenly reminding Lisa of her place in the world.

So she did as was expected of a child greeting their Mother, and bowed her head. “Good evening, Mother.”

“Hello, Lisa, darling,” the woman smiled affectionately, stepping deeper into the Room, “My, it’s been ages. How are you?”

“I am doing well,” Lisa answered simply, earning another smile.

“And what about your work? I take it the Project is progressing under your care?”

Dr. Schreyer nodded, indicating the wide window to her right that looked down into the Project’s main Room as she spoke, “She is growing fast, and learns quickly too. She has combat training with Mister Wilson at the moment, but if you like, I can introduce you to her in an hour when they are finished.”

“That’s quite all right, Lisa. I’m afraid I’m only here for a short while, but thank you for the offer,” Mother assured her, following her child’s gaze into the Room below and ignoring Lex’s small snort of annoyance at the words.

Lex had watched the entire exchange between the two women with confusion at first, then interest, and finally anger at the fact that Mother preferred to question  _ Schreyer _ about  _ his _ Project. It was clear from the start that they knew each other - Lisa had greeted Mother by name, and clearly knew the woman far better than Lex did - and he made a mental note to interrogate Schreyer about it later.

Mother had either not noticed Lex’s discomfort or chosen to ignore it, and even so, she was too occupied with staring out the Watching Room’s wide observation window to address him.

There was a girl in the Room below, a young girl - dark-haired, strong, intelligent, and with more than a few visible scars on her - fighting an older man. Mother knew the man immediately, and though she had already been well aware that he had been hired to train the child, a frown still crossed her face at the sight of  _ Deathstroke _ teaching a child to wield a sword.

Though she had to admit… the girl could wield it quite well.

She didn’t even know what she was yet, and she was already deadly. Mother could only imagine what the girl could do if she was truly as powerful as everyone seemed to think - and teaching her to fight would only make her stronger.

“Lex,” she said softly after a long moment of consideration, drawing his attention.

His head came up immediately, shoving aside any malcontent he was feeling as he looked her way, “Yes, Mother?”

“Do you realize what it is that you have in that Room?”

“An alien,” he answered, because it was the truth. Project Stormkrigeren was an extraterrestrial, not of this Earth - nothing more, nothing less. But Mother shook her head.

“No, Lex - what you have is the answer to our very existence,” she said softly, turning to face him, “I assume that you are aware of the metahuman thesis?”

Lex nodded, and opened his mouth to assure the woman that he was well aware of the theory and had even done some research into it himself when her implication clicked in his mind.

It wasn’t a theory.

It was the truth.

And Alexander Luthor Junior had possibly one of the most powerful metahumans on Earth in his possession. By her existence, he had proven the theory to be correct.

“This is no longer a question of ‘How alone are we in the universe’ - the answer to that is standing only a few feet away. The real question is ‘How much is that little girl going to change the world?’” Mother explained, her sharp gaze tracking said girl as she made her way across the bright Room in a flurry of blades, “Her existence alone is proof that the world is changing, but the fact that she is here is also the key to bringing such change to a halt.”

“You mean the evolution of metahumans?” Lex asked, and Mother nodded.

“I know I probably sound like some old coot when I say this, but they really are an unnatural deviation from humanity’s path. These ‘metahumans’ are growing like weeds, and one day there will be more of them than there are of us. They will drag the human race into chaos until the normalcy and predictability that protect us become a thing of the past - until all who remain are the strongest of the strong.”

Here she paused, taking a deep breath as if to calm her nerves before Mother continued in a low voice.

“And despite how much we deny it, Lex, we both know that won’t be us,” she said in a whisper, looking down at the girl in the Room below. “It will be her.”

Lex followed Mother’s gaze, and felt something like jealousy at her words. A moment later it became burning hatred. Mother had barely seen the girl for all of five minutes, yet she had already seen the hardest truth about Stormkrigeren: it was all about her. The Project was a taker and she came with a cost - she cost money, she cost time, she took up everyone’s attention, and she  _ stole _ Lex’s status and power in everyone’s minds. He was the one people were supposed to fear, to respect - and yet everyone who knew about the Project considered her of far greater importance than him.

He might have had Mister Wilson shoot her for that if it weren't for the second hardest truth about Stormkrigeren: the few people that knew she existed may be afraid of her, but the only person she herself was afraid of was Lex.

That was the thing about fear: it was almost the same as respect, only better.

Darcie, poor little Dee-Dee, was  _ afraid _ of him. She hid it well, but Lex still saw the look in her eyes whenever he walked into the Room and noted the wariness with which she spoke to him. But from that fear stemmed respect, and it was through respect that she would follow any order given to her without a moment’s hesitation.

Lex had to admit, Mister Wilson had trained her well.

Darcie would follow orders. Darcie would do as Lex told her, and she would do it quickly and well. Darcie would fulfill her purpose, she would protect him and whatever else Lex ordered her to, and she would even annihilate the metahuman threat if only he asked it of her.

“Fight fire with fire,” he said softly in reply to Mother’s declaration, “She… she can do it. She can kill every last one of them - can’t she?”

Mother only nodded.

“She can burn these ‘metahumans’ where they stand, Lex. You know where your weapon must aim.”

Yes.

Yes, Lex knew exactly where to aim.

“At the abominations who live among us,” he answered in a whisper, “Their fire will light the way.”

And when all was said and done, and the threat was gone, only Stormkrigeren would be left. Little, obedient Stormkrigeren, who would do her very best to hold still when Lex told her to and who wouldn’t flinch when he gave her her reward.

A bullet to the skull - the last of the metahumans would be gone.

And Lex would finally be the strongest of the strong.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

She heard her name.

That was normal - her name was said a lot, especially when someone was talking about her. But what was different this time was that there was a new voice saying it.

It caught her off guard. New things were rare and usually brought big changes with them, and a new voice meant a new person which meant the biggest change of all.

The Project didn’t like change.

She didn’t exactly know why - she didn’t exactly know why about a lot of things - but she was pretty sure it had something to do with the fact that change was, as Mister Wilson once put it, ‘a tear in the delicate fabric of safe routine’. Which was exactly why he changed her schedule so much in order to keep her on her toes. But those were just little changes and Stormkrigeren could deal with those - they were nothing like big changes which left far too much room for mistakes on her part, and mistakes were  _ unacceptable _ .

A new voice, and thus a new person, was a big change.

She lifted her blade in a messy deflect, grunting softly when her teacher’s weapon struck against steel with a heavy blow. She should have expected that, and she might have been able to fend it off with another blow of her own if she had been paying attention, but most of her focus was on the low voices coming from the Watching Room and not on her Teacher.

The Project fended off another swipe towards her calf, absently dodging out of the way, but making no move to go on the offense. She strained her ears to catch more of the conversation going on in the Watching Room while continuing to put the barest amount of effort into sparring, but she could not hear much more than the occasional muttered word or her name mentioned again once or twice, and again very loudly.

“Stormkrigeren!” Mister Wilson roared, pulling her focus back to her clearly displeased Teacher - he rarely called her much more than Storm unless he was upset or circumstances called for it.

She blinked up at him, dimly noticing that they had stopped sparring at some point, both of them panting hard and loosely holding their blades as he scowled at her.

“What the hell are you doing?!” he yelled, “You  _ do not _ drop your guard in the middle of a goddamn spar - are you trying to get yourself killed?” 

“There is someone new in the Watching Room,” she explained quickly, resisting the urge to step back from the loud voice. Luckily, Mister Wilson did not shout at her again, and instead his gaze flickered up towards the wide panel of two-way mirrors above their heads, glaring at the glass as if that would make it reveal whoever was on the other side. He snorted under his breath, not doubting his student and whatever had alerted her to the newcomer - he knew better by now, and over the years teaching Stormkrigeren, he had seen her do more than a few unusual feats that would have been by no means impossible for anyone  _ normal _ \- but Mister Wilson also knew better than to stop a sparring session just for curiosity’s sake. He would ask Luthor who the visitor was when the lesson was over.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he said finally, dropping back into a fighter’s stance and indicating for her to do the same so that they could resume training. Stormkrigeren only nodded, and readied her blade to start again when she paused.

“Mister Wilson?”

“What?” he sighed, clearly getting annoyed as he raised his katana in preparation for the first movement. Stormkrigeren ignored the low growl in his voice, having grown used to it a long time ago.

“What’s a metahuman?”

Mister Wilson paused at that, and glanced in his student’s direction. She had half-expected him to glare at her and yell something about distraction being fatal, but instead he just looked… surprised, maybe even a little bit nervous.

The look was gone in an instant, and her Teacher shook his head as he resumed his usual rough demeanor.

“Never mind that,” he barked, “Focus. Blades up!”

Stormkrigeren obeyed, and went back to sparring.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

“So it’s decided then?” Lex asked, almost reluctantly as he held the car door open for her. Mother nodded in reply as she adjusted her light jacket.

“Of course, Lex - it will all be taken care of,” she assured him in a comforting tone, “I will send someone to fetch Darcie in a few years, and I will ensure that her training is completed - likely David will teach her, bless his heart.”

Lex frowned at that, watching as the older woman seated herself in the backseat of the car he had called for her. “That shouldn’t be necessary - Mister Wilson agreed to train her for another ten years as long as I continue to pay him. Won’t that be long enough?”

“Lex, dear, as much as I admire your ability to keep  _ the _ Deathstroke in your employ and the man’s ability as a contractor in his area of expertise, Mister Wilson can teach that girl only so much,” Mother answered with a shake of her head, “All she will ever learn from him is how to kill -  _ not _ how to blend in. And unless you want Darcie to be discovered on her very first day outside of those Rooms, she needs to learn how to make herself seem as human as you and me. Fortunately, blending in is exactly what I teach.”

Lex’s face fell at the words, and he quickly covered it up with a bright smile, just as his father had taught him. That was the way of the world - do not let them see how you truly feel or think, or they will tear you apart. Mother, unfortunately, had very good eyesight.

“Oh, poor lad,” she crooned softly, seeing the disappointment in his face, “I know you’ve grown attached to your Darcie, but you must remember  _ what _ she is and that you are doing what is  _ best _ for her. You still have another ten years with her in your care, so enjoy them while you can. When the time comes, I will send for her and before you know it, Darcie will be all grown up and become what she was always meant to be.”

“And what’s that?” Lex snapped in a sullen tone, still reluctant to let this strange (albeit powerful) woman have any sort of control over  _ his _ Project. But Mother simply ignored his discomfort and answered the question with a soft chuckle.

“Why, Lex, haven’t you guessed? She is a force of nature - wild and unpredictable, but if you can get a bridle on her, she can take this world by storm and free us from the abominations.”

Mother smiled at the thought, patting Lex’s hand in a comforting gesture. “Just think of it, Lex - it won’t be long now before both you and little Darcie will be free.”


	14. Rule #10: Do not rest until the task is complete

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hallo! New chapter! Also, Happy Holidays to all of my followers! I hope you all have a blessed time of rest from work/school!

Forty by thirty by ten.

Twelve-thousand square meters.

They had started with one-thousand-and-eighty minutes on the clock.

Now she only had one-hundred-and-seventeen. Though even that was a rough estimate.

Today's lesson was another in what Mister Wilson called 'hunting'. Lessons like these could last for multiple days, starting off with a period of preparation where Stormkrigeren and her teacher would construct the course they would be running, and finally ending when one of them became prey. The goal was simple: track down and injure the other before time runs out.

It was easier said than done, especially in a cramped, complicated, maze-like course built of pallet boards and rough gravel when all the lights in her Rooms were turned off and the freezing sprinkler system triggering intermittently. Mister Wilson said that it was to simulate real-world conditions, which Stormkrigeren did not entirely believe, but she wasn't one to argue. For now, she simply sat quietly, blinking in the darkness and desperately trying not to feel the cold as she listened hard for any sort of movement.

Hunting was a game of sorts, and all she had to do to win was search, pursue, and injure her Teacher in only eighteen hours. The only catch was that Mister Wilson was doing the same, so not only was Stormkrigeren required to find him, but she also had to do it without him finding her first. And if - _if_ \- she somehow managed that and followed him undetected, she could always take the risk of attacking him first and fighting for the chance to draw blood, thus ending the hunt. The easiest play would be to simply avoid her Teacher, but true victory could only be achieved through battle.

Hours earlier, before she and Mister Wilson had started the hunt, he had given her the one weapon Stormkrigeren was allotted during the lesson and carefully laid out the rules, explaining to her the best course of action and ensuring that she understood every step of the plan.

"The trick," he had told her, "is to keep moving. If you stay in one place for too long, you are much easier to catch - and the moment you're caught..."

Mister Wilson had paused to make sure that his student was listening, then having her attention, he drew a finger across his throat in a movement that Stormkrigeren understood all too well.

"I'll be killed for resting, won't I?" she had asked soberly as she twisted the ka-bar's handle between her fingers, knowing the answer before he even opened his mouth to reply.

"That's the thing about rest and mercy and hell of a lot of other things, Storm - everyone needs it, but no one truly deserves it."

Less than ninety minutes later, Stormkrigeren learned just how true those words were.

The training course was pitch dark, so it was by feel that she quietly crept along. Normally, she might have used her ears to avoid obstacles and follow the easiest route through the tall pallet boards, using a combination of light raps against the ground and soft clicks with her tongue in a primitive form of echolocation, but that was not possible now. The patter of the overhead sprinkler system dulled any sounds that she made and made it hard to hear where she was, and even in the times where the water was off, there was still the dangerous chance that Mister Wilson might hear her. The softest of footsteps on gravel could seem as loud as an alarm bell if one was listening for them, so it was of the utmost importance that Stormkrigeren remained silent all throughout the hunt. The only issue was that both staying silent and staying on the move were nigh on impossible when done together.

She was used to stretching her own limits and going long periods of time with hardly any sleep, but this was just plain exhausting. The energy it took to not only find her way around in the dark and dangerous maze of a course, but to keep herself moving forward, was almost more than she had, and it didn't help that Stormkrigeren had not eaten in nearly a day by now. Somehow she managed to keep moving silently and stealthily until about halfway through their allotted time, and having not sensed any danger or heard a single sound besides the dripping of water and her own light breathing, she allowed herself a short break.

Stormkrigeren had hardly paused for more than a minute when she heard a sound like loose clothing brushing against rough wood, and a moment later the noise was followed by the familiar thunk of steel embedding itself in the pallet board less than a foot to her right - he had found her. She did not give herself time to think about fighting back and instead grabbed the throwing knife before moving on again as quickly and quietly as possible. Six hours later, and despite her aching limbs and tired body, Stormkrigeren had stopped just once more after the incident only to have another blade thrown in her direction, urging her on again. The lesson was not hard to understand - any moment that you allowed yourself to relax, that you let your guard down, that you ignored the warnings in favor of rest, could easily be the moment that you lost your life.

The fatigue was getting to her now, making her slow and clumsy, sometimes accidentally knocking against wood or brushing gravel, and by the sound letting the whole Room know exactly where she was. Each small noise sent a rush of adrenaline through her veins, urging her to bolt away from the sound she herself had caused in case her hunter moved towards it. But Stormkrigeren held her nerve and continued to move at a steady and quiet pace, listening carefully. There was always the chance that Mister Wilson might have heard the sound and followed it with the intention of ending their hunt with a fight, though Stormkrigeren was beginning to doubt that after accidentally announcing her location for the third time and seeing no trace of her Teacher afterward - in all likelihood, he was equally exhausted as her and might have even paused to rest while she carried on.

But the fear of being followed was not even the worst part of a hunting session. No, what scared Stormkrigeren most was not her hunter, but the very real possibility of getting lost.

With nothing to guide her but sound and touch, it was not too hard to lose one's way in the complicated course, even if Stormkrigeren had had a hand in building it. There was nothing in the rules against moving the pallet board obstacles out of place, only that there was a significant risk of making a sound while doing so, but she knew that her Teacher could be very stealthy when he wanted to. Every now and again, it would suddenly occur to Stormkrigeren that she had lost her way, trapped in the dark Room with no way out and no knowing what might be lurking around the next corner - and there was nothing she could do to escape except carry on in silence.

But still, she did not allow herself to stop - even when completely disorientated, she stayed on her feet and on her guard as she continued to search for her Teacher. Stormkrigeren was all too familiar with long, tiring hunts - she had done them before and was by no means a rookie to this sort of thing.

Two months ago, she had run another hunting course similar to this one, except that the previous course had not had so many high places or obstacles that required climbing. That was not because Stormkrigeren couldn't climb - she could climb quite well, in fact, and enjoyed trekking vertically in search of a high resting place. The easier terrain was actually to accommodate the dogs, who weren't nearly as good at climbing. They were dogs, after all.

Mister Wilson had brought in a pair of Belgian Malinoises a few days before their last hunting session, sitting both the hounds and his student down on the floor to explain what exactly was going on. Stormkrigeren had never seen a dog before, at least not physically, but she had seen pictures and Dr. Schreyer had told her a little bit about what was apparently 'man's best friend' and the companion animal for millions of people around the world. The animal sitting next to her did not seem to be especially friendly and was even harder to read than Alexander himself, but it did let her run a hand over its gleaming fur coat when Mister Wilson instructed Stormkrigeren to do so. Her Teacher had then explained over the next half-hour that the dogs were to be her hunters, and the goal of the hunt was for her to avoid them for as long as possible. It was a lesson in endurance, stamina, and persistence, and the only way to win was to outlast her hunters.

Mister Wilson gave her a two-minute head-start into the course, and Stormkrigeren used it to locate a decently elevated hiding spot where she could sit until the dogs exhausted themselves looking for her. It was a clever plan, and might have worked quite well if not for the fact that Belgian Malinoises were not only bred for their tracking and detection skills, but could smell a human often over a hundred-and-twenty away. She didn't stand a chance by staying in one spot, and Stormkrigeren learned that less than a minute later when one of the dogs strayed dangerously close to her hiding spot, nose to the ground as it followed her trail.

But she was clever enough to not allow herself to be cornered and managed to move on before she was spotted. That was how the hunt ensued - Stormkrigeren stayed on her feet, keeping as high and out of reach as she could, while the dogs came quickly after. They bayed every now and again, getting excited whenever her scent grew stronger, and she couldn't help but flinch every time a bark sounded too close for comfort. Of course, there were other times where her evasion skills paid off and the hounds might lose the trail or get disinterested, but there was always Mister Wilson to spur them on again, and the chase through the winding course would start anew.

Yet even dogs got tired sooner or later, and eventually, her Teacher had to finally call them off around the two-and-a-half-hour mark. Stormkrigeren had succeeded in evading the predators long enough to win.

The whole experience had left her a bit wary of dogs, but also intrigued. They made excellent hunters, just like she was training to be, and Stormkrigeren knew she could learn quite a lot by training with them. Mister Wilson was of the same opinion, and had mentioned the possibility of another hunting session using hounds as the hunters at a later date, but it had not come to pass as of yet. Stormkrigeren looked forward to when it would happen, and wondered if Mister Wilson would use the same pair of Belgian Malinois as last time. Would they remember her or her Rooms? Would she do better in the hunt now that she knew how they track her? She would have to ask Mister Wilson about it later, after the current hunt was complete-

A sound snapped her out of her reverie - a nearly inaudible rustling of disturbed gravel - and Stormkrigeren's head was up in an instant, listening hard as she peered into the darkness in the direction of the noise. It had been somewhere below her and to the left, and dangerously close. Eyes useless without light and unable to detect any other sounds, Stormkrigeren crouched taut and ready, knowing that unless there was a third person in the Room (damnit, she hoped it wasn't true), only her Teacher could have caused a disturbance in the silence.

Mister Wilson was close by - and Stormkrigeren was running out of time.

Of course, she had known from the start that the easiest way of winning was to simply avoid him, but one could never avoid forever. Your hunter would catch up eventually, and her's was almost nipping at her heels. So Stormkrigeren did the most logical and dangerous thing she could possibly have done: she decided to make her hunter the hunted.

Below and to her left, that was where she had heard him. She crept silently in that direction, clutching her only weapon in one hand and using the other to feel for obstacles ahead, listening hard as she did. There - another low sound farther ahead and more to her right this time. Stormkrigeren chased after it as quickly as she dared without making any noise herself that might alert her Teacher of her approach.

She did not have to fight him, she only had to draw blood. Attack from behind - scratch him, stab him, do anything necessary to make him bleed, and do it without being able to see her enemy. Fighting blind, fighting bloody.

He couldn't be very far now. Stormkrigeren knew that she was close to where the second sound had originated from, so she slowed her pace to a standstill, hands spread on the ground below her as she tried to sense any movement nearby. She didn't need to - she heard it: the distinct swish of a blade leaving its sheath.

Her knife was in the air in an instant, swinging down hard on her opponent in what should have been a debilitating blow if only Mister Wilson had been there to receive it.

Stormkrigeren, unfortunately, had missed.

Mister Wilson's fist made contact with her shoulder in a counterattack, his blade following close behind, but his student was nothing if quick. She ducked underneath the stab, rolling out of the way of another thrust she could not see in the pitch darkness, but she could hear it whistle past her left ear. No time to hesitate, no time to pause for breath, only dodge and attack.

On her feet in an instant, retaliating with a slash in his direction only to feel it nearly miss and harmlessly glance off his ribs instead. His fist somehow found her jaw, throwing her back against the pallet board wall and she could almost see his blade hand raised to strike when both of them heard it - the sound they had been so desperately waiting for, the sound of the buzzer in the Watching Room announcing the end of the hunt. But both of them also knew better than to pause mid-fight.

Stormkrigeren sensed the next blow coming and reacted accordingly by raising her knife to clash against his, effectively deflecting the stab. But even if she had managed to avoid the first strike, that did not mean she could avoid the one that followed it.

She felt the blade against her skin in the same moment that the lights came on, followed by biting pain and the unmistakable warmth of blood rushing from the wound.

Stormkrigeren blinked dumbly in the sudden light, one arm still raised in defense and the other pressed close to her side, bleeding heavily from a long slice over her bicep. Her Teacher stood only a few feet away, also reacclimating his eyes, but that did not stop him from growling dangerously as he raised his bloodied knife to point at her.

"That..." he said sharply, referring to her ambush, "...was a _mistake_ , Stormkrigeren."

Her eyes narrowed at his words, and she was about to point out that he had only managed to draw blood _after_ the buzzer sounded when Mister Wilson spoke up again.

"Mistakes are inevitable - they are part of what makes us human," her Teacher explained slowly, running a hand through his silver hair with a tired sigh, "You, unfortunately, are not. So don't you ever think for a moment that even _one_ mistake will be tolerated for even an instant."

"But that's not fair!" she snapped angrily back at him, "You can't punish me just for being different!"

She spat the last word out, hating the meaning behind it and hating what it had done to her as she clutched her knife tighter. There was no reason for him to blame her - it was wrong and unfair and it wasn't supposed to be this way. But even if Stomkrigeren was in the right, her Teacher still scowled at the words and flung his arms wide to indicate the hunting course and Room around them.

"Look around you - is any of this fair?" he demanded furiously, "The entire reason you're kept locked up in these damn Rooms is because you're different, and still you call it normal! You call it retribution and justice for… for whatever the hell you are. There is no justice in this world, Stormkrigeren - and you'd better learn that damn well quickly."

She didn't answer him, but her hard glare softened somewhat as she followed her Teacher's example when he sheathed his blade. The hunt was over and there was no time left to fight for, so now they both could finally have some room to breathe. Following Mister Wilson as he started making his way out of the course towards the kitchenette door, Stormkrigeren found herself almost sighing in relief at the thought of what came next - something to eat and drink, a short rest, and lastly the most boring part of the hunting session - cleaning up the course.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Mister Wilson left not long after they finished sweeping the last of the gravel that had covered the floor of their hunting course away, muttering something about having a flight in eleven hours and wanting to catch some sleep beforehand. There was a contract out in Kenya that he wanted to pick up, and he would be back later that week.

As promised, he did return - though two days later than expected and with a large compress bandage on his shoulder visible beneath his shirt. Stormkrigeren did not question it and instead asked what they would be learning today.

The lesson was in marksmanship - Mister Wilson had long ago recognized that his student's proficiency in ranged combat was severely limited to nothing more than throwing blades at a target, and had decided that it was high time to step it up a notch. He began by introducing her to the weapon they would be training with: a 9mm Glock-19, and later on its more advanced counterpart, the .22 Glock-44 for heavier firing.

(And though he saw the way she stiffened when he removed the guns from his bag, Mister Wilson refrained from criticizing her on it and carried on with the lesson).

Stormkrigeren already had some knowledge of firearms - her Teacher had ensured that years before with some simple practice in bullet and gun identification, teaching her to recognize various weapons and their abilities, and even going so far as to have her do the occasional loading, but never shooting. Now, all that knowledge was finally put to the test.

They started off with a quick quiz on basic firearm usage and preparation - which bullets worked for which guns, how to unload and load a clip, ensuring that the weapon was in good condition, and finally how to handle it safely. Afterward, Mister Wilson instructed her in setting up various bullet traps to act as targets and stacked cinderblocks for shooting obstacles. And finally, Stormkrigeren was allowed to load her weapon and submit it for a safety check before she started on the first set of targets.

Mister Wilson had her focus on simply shooting first, getting a good feel for the gun while learning to ignore the loud noise it made and the sudden recoil that shook her hands. They worked on proper stance and aim, developing the muscle memory required to shoot true. Once her Teacher was satisfied with her proficiency, they moved on to accuracy.

Actually hitting what you aimed for turned out to be much harder than Stormkrigeren had expected, but with her Teacher's constant instruction and pointers and readjustments, she eventually reached the point where she could consistently hit the cardboard target when she really tried. Mister Wilson had her go over five sets of three targets each, every set of increasing difficulty, as slowly as she needed in order to make the shot count - though it took much longer than he would have liked for her to hit sets Four and Five.

The first three arrangements of targets were pretty simple - a couple of cinderblocks for her to aim around, and that was it. Set Four was the same design with the concrete bricks blocking the easiest shot, but did so in such a way that Stormkrigeren was forced to spend what felt like hours (it was actually about five minutes) trying to find the best angle through the blocks so that her bullet would actually hit the target, and even after she found said angle, she only managed success every third shot or so. On the other hand, set Five was not nearly as complicated but equally difficult as it required her to aim at a moving target (another bullet trap on a transport dolly propelled by a hard shove from Mister Wilson) through more cinderblock obstacles similar to set Two. Oddly enough, Stormkrigeren performed better on the last set than she did on the previous one.

They had been working on precision and accuracy for a little over two hours when her Teacher decided that she was a decent enough slow-shot to start building up her speed. That was the point of starting off slow - slow was smooth and smooth was fast - and fast, Mister Wilson told her, was the only she wasn't going to get killed. Thus the speed drills.

She shot at the same targets through the same sets as before, only this time Mister Wilson gave her a time limit to hit all three targets in each set. They started off at thirty seconds, which was easy enough except at set Four, but she managed it.

They get down to ten seconds for each set, with Mister Wilson counting down the seconds as Stormkrigeren fired off her shots. At one point, she even managed to make sets One through Three in under five seconds each (her Teacher muttering something about having to add more variety in targets next time so she wasn't shooting at the same damn flaps of cardboard as she did), and she was rewarded with a terse but approving nod from Mister Wilson before she moved on to the next set.

Over and over and over again, she went through each series of targets as quickly as she could until she had it down to a pattern - unload clip, reload clip, and discard the shells while you're at it. Submit your weapon for examination and move on to the next set. Shoot and repeat.

This went on for a few hours, and it was nearly time for Stormkrigeren's next meal when her Teacher was finally satisfied and indicated that the lesson was over by packing up his kit bag, muttering something about having to get going if he wanted to catch his flight as he did. Stormkrigeren, being the good student that she was, helped him by collecting the clips and cartridges he had brought for her to train with. Lastly, she set the pair of training glocks down beside his bag, surrendering the weapons - only for Mister Wilson to shove one of them back into her hands.

"Hang on to it," he ordered, zipping up the duffel as he did, "Get some more practice in while I'm gone."

"I-I'm not allowed to have a weapon without supervision," Stormkrigeren pointed out, but she made no move to hand over the gun as her Teacher chuckled.

"What, like Schreyer or someone isn't watching you twenty-four-seven? Just hand it over to one of them when you're finished - I trust you'll get along fine."

His last words caused her to pause, and Stormkrigeren eyed her Teacher warily, wondering if this was another one of his odd tests to try her obedience. She was supposed to hand the gun over, she wasn't supposed to have weapons without someone watching her, what if she used it wrong or against someone-

Mister Wilson trusted that she would get along fine. Mister Wilson trusted _her_.

"Okay," she said slowly, clutching the firearm a little closer, "Thank y-"

The sound of the steel door to her Rooms hissing open stopped her mid-sentence, and both Teacher and student looked up to see a familiar somebody march through the entryway with a frown etched on his face. Alexander's countenance brightened slightly at the sight of them, but Mister Wilson's usual glare only seemed to deepen as he slung the kit bag over his shoulder with a sigh.

"Mister Luthor."

"Ah, Mister Wilson!" Lex grinned, eyeing the man with an air of surprise, "You're leaving already?"

"I've got a flight to catch," Stormkrigeren's Teacher answered tersely, and before his employer could argue against it, Mister Wilson was already striding towards the door and letting himself out - leaving her alone with Alexander. Both of them watched as it slid shut behind him, Alexander twisting his face into an exaggerated grimace at her Teacher's sudden departure - Stormkrigeren got the vague sense that his expression was supposed to be funny, though she did not laugh and instead watched him carefully in expectation of an order. But none came, and Alexander just smiled at her.

"Morning, Dee-Dee! Sorry for interrupting your lesson, but it looked as if you were just about finished and I wanted to drop by and see how everything was going."

Stormkrigeren nodded, and was about to reply something along the lines of 'all right' when his expression abruptly changed again.

"You're… learning how to use a gun," Alexander stated suddenly, his gaze locked on the weapon in her hand and a small frown forming around the edges of his mouth.

"Mister Wilson wanted to ensure that I had a good grasp of marksmanship and ranged combat," she explained quickly, watching the steel door her Teacher had just left through. Damnit, she wished he had stayed, she didn't like being left all on her own with-

Alexander's frown deepened a little more, and Stormkrigeren had to consciously suppress a rush of adrenaline at that - frowning meant that a person was upset and nothing good ever happened when Alexander was upset.

"All right," he said slowly in an even tone, "Can I see what you've learned so far?"

She nodded - she knew better than to refuse - and prepared her firearm, raising it to aim steadily at the first set of targets to her left. They were easy pickings, and she hit all three bullet traps with only a single shot each. The next set was a bit more difficult with a few cinderblock obstacles interspersed between Stormkrigeren and the targets, but she had had plenty of practice and nailed it quickly and easily. Set Three was even less straightforward and had more cinderblocks than the previous one, requiring her to take the time to find just the right angle to hit each of the bullet traps perfectly.

It was only when she came to Set Four that Stormkrigeren hesitated - finding the right angle was difficult and time-consuming, and she knew from experience that Alexander was not exactly a patient person. Making an educated guess based on previous attempts with Mister Wilson, she knelt and aimed in what was approximately the right direction through the cinderblocks, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves before she fired.

Beneath the echoing gunshot, she heard a terrible sound - the crack and ping of a bullet hitting concrete instead of the target.

Stormkrigeren, unfortunately, had missed.

Her eyes immediately flew to Alexander standing a few feet away, searching his face for any sign of a reaction to her failure. With the way his brow darkened into a hard glare, it was not hard to tell that he was clearly very upset - angry, even - but despite his obvious displeasure, he firmly kept his mouth shut, lips pressed together in a hard line. He said nothing, and nodded stiffly for her to try again.

Rolling her shoulders to relieve the tension building there, Stormkrigeren did her best to relax and aim straight as she raised the weapon again. She lined up the barrel with the sliver of target and took a deep breath before pulling the trigger for the second time.

And for the second time, she heard her shot embed itself in hard stone instead of ballistics gel, but the sound had hardly reached her ears before it was followed by a raised voice far too close for comfort.

"What the hell is wrong with you!?" Alexander screeched, hackles rising as he marched towards her, "Damnit, you can't even hit a damn target when it's looking you in the goddamned face! Give it here!"

Maybe if Stormkrigeren had not been frozen with fear, she might have been able to react - but the strong hand wrenching the gun out of hers' was completely unexpected, and she could only watch as Alexander raised the weapon with an irate snort of annoyance.

Alexander knew how to use a gun, knew how to aim well and how to pull the trigger - but just this once, his aim was the slightest bit off.

They both tensed as for the third time that day, the bullet hit concrete instead. And for the longest moment, it was blissfully silent as they stared at the undamaged target, the only sound in her Room that of the atmospheric regulator and Alexander's heavy breathing as he turned on her.

"Dee-Dee," he said slowly, his voice dripping with barely-restrained rage, "Dee-Dee, I want you to get down on your knees. Now."

If it had been under normal circumstances, if he had not been the one holding the gun, Stormkrigeren would have refused outright. But this was in no way a normal circumstance, and she couldn't expect help or rescue to come from anywhere when Alexander was around - he was the one in charge, he was the one holding the gun. And Stormkrigeren, unfortunately, knew what guns could do. She knew that if she was truly honest with herself, she had no other choice.

She was down on her knees in an instant, hands obediently folded behind her back - and for her obedience, she was rewarded with the hard blow of a heavy firearm cracking against her skull.

The force of the strike caught her completely off-guard and sent her stumbling to the floor, vision darkening as unconsciousness threatened to close in. Stormkrigeren was dimly aware of nearly passing out and her ears ringing painfully as she struggled to sit up, swaying unsteadily from the sudden movement. It was hard to move with her head pounding the way it was - damnit, it was hard to even _think_ , but she was coherent enough to understand three things:

One, Alexander was touching her, cradling her face, stroking her jaw, saying something she couldn't quite make out with her ears ringing the way they were, but she could tell it was meant to be soothing.

Two, she _did not_ like him touching here - it was _bad_ and _dangerous_ and she _did not_ like the feel of him against her skin.

Three, no matter how much she hated it, she was not allowed to move when she was being inspected. She had to hold still, she had to wait, she was not allowed to speak up or tell him 'no' or try to get him to stop _touching_ her when she _did not_ want to be touched.

But Stormkrigeren was a good girl, so she kept her mouth shut and did not pull away.

"Shh, shh," Alexander soothed gently, his cold hands stroking her skin in a way that sent a shiver down her spine, "I-I'm sorry, Dee-Dee, I really am. That was… stupid. Don't ever think for even a moment that it's any fault of yours that you're so bad at shooting - I'm sure you'll improve eventually, and that was a really great try."

Stormkrigeren couldn't do much more than nod in reply, and immediately regretted the action as a fresh wave of pain washed over her - damnit, she hated concussions with a passion, but there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it, not until he let her up…

Alexander didn't let her up, stroking the bruise that was starting to form on her temple and pressing himself closer to whisper in her ear.

"No more of this 'Alexander' or 'Mister Luthor' shit," he said softly, "I want you to call me Lex, now - I think you've earned it."


	15. Rule #11: Do not deviate from the plan or schedule

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, everyone! I hope you all had an amazing Christmas yesterday! As a present, here is another chapter for you!
> 
> Year Twelve.

‘ _ Thov qhia kuv yuav ua li cas thiaj tau lub tshav dav hlau? _ ’

“Thov qhia kuv yuav ua li cas thiaj tau lub tshav dav hlau?” she repeated, still typing at the keyboard with her left hand, while her right remained firmly clamped over the gash on her bicep. She tried not to wince as she continued writing the thesis, focusing her thoughts away from the pain and instead on the implications of using a lighter, cheaper, and stronger lead-magnesium alloy versus regular steel in construction. The injury wasn’t making it any easier - Stormkrigeren bit her lip and glanced down at the blood seeping from between her fingers. 

_ ‘Thaum twg lub dav hlau tom ntej tawm rau...?’  _ the recording prompted her.

“Thaum twg lub dav hlau tom ntej tawm rau Dubai?”

Lex was a firm believer in survival of the fittest and didn’t like it when she tried to treat the wound, which would usually result in a beating and six hours without any light - a seemingly endless void of pure black and dead silence, leaving her trapped all on her own-

She scrunched her eyes closed and pushed the memory away, trying to regain her train of thought only for it to be broken again by the cheerful ping of the kitchen clock’s daily alarm. 0715 AM, Eastern Standard Time. That would be 1215 in London, 1515 in Dubai, 2015 in Tokyo, and 0415 in Seattle. She’d easily memorized the time zones when she was two.

_ ‘Ua tsaug rau koj ke-’ _

She paused the recording and stood up, tapping another button on her laptop to save her paper. Closing the computer, she limped across the main Room and into the small kitchenette, washing her bloody hand in the sink. It had finally stopped bleeding and the platelets were beginning to coagulate - the last of the many wounds she’d received the evening before to do so. 

Stormkrigeren reached for the meal planner on the mini-fridge and gave it a quick glance to see what she was making today. It was the Easy American Breakfast, including four different types of eggs ranging from scrambled to hard-boiled, toasted white and brown slices of bread, smoked pancetta bacon, and freshly squeezed orange juice she’d made herself the previous day. Replacing the planner and opening the small fridge, she grabbed the egg carton and milk.

The air filters never ceased their incessant humming, sucking up the umami smell of the sizzling bacon before it could permeate the Room, and the life support computer automatically adjusted the atmospheric regulator to compensate for the rising warmth. She ignored both of them, shutting out the sound and continuing to prepare breakfast before moving on to prepare the table.

Stormkrigeren grunted softly, her skin stretching beneath a coating of dried blood as she pushed against her desk, moving it from its usual place against the west wall to the middle of the Room. It was hard to get a good handhold on it, as it had no drawers or shelves, nothing that could be used to hide something. Her life was all in the open for the cameras and mirrored wall to see.

She managed to move the desk to its destination and went back to the kitchen to fetch the usual array of folding chairs, cutlery, and dishes, arranging them around the desk so it could be used as a breakfast table. Stormkrigeren set two places for breakfast, going around and checking the setting for mistakes before she determined that the bacon was done. Scooping it onto a wad of paper towel, she set it on a plate in the hot oven along with the eggs so they would stay warm while she got ready for the day.

The bathroom was only a few steps away from the kitchen and considerably cooler than the rest of the Rooms, but she was used to the extreme temperatures and didn’t even shiver as she slipped her blood-stained tee over her head, neither wincing as it pulled at the dried blood covering the wound in her side. Mister Wilson had taught her better than to let the pain control her.

Stormkrigeren ran the cloth under cold water until the scarlet color had faded to a light pink before depositing it in the laundry basket. Her sports leggings soon followed and then it was a quick shower, blow-drying her dark hair, and brushing her teeth, pausing only once to glare at her reflection in the mirror. It grimaced back - though it did look better than it had before she’d cleaned up. Her dark locks, almost black in the harsh overhead light, were naturally a bit wavy, but it was hard to tell when her hair was barely long enough to tuck into a ponytail. Her piercing eyes were an unnaturally bright shade of azure tinted with grey till they were the color of stormy tropic waters. Her high sculpted cheekbones might have been considered beautiful by others, but she personally didn’t care and was more worried about the new wound above her left eye which had softened enough in the shower to start bleeding again. Stormkrigeren managed to close it up and cover the scabs with a bit of concealer before brushing out her hair, finishing up exactly twenty-three seconds before the kitchen clock pinged with the daily alarm for eight AM.

The steel door to the Watching Room remained firmly closed a minute later, and part of her almost relaxed with a small amount of relief, but she stopped herself, keeping her back straight and her head high in expectation as she stood near the door waiting for their arrival. She had changed into a fresh pair of training clothes, identical to her previous white tee and black sports leggings - minus the bloodstains, of course, though she knew that wouldn’t last long. 

A quick glance at the clock hanging in the kitchen told her that her guests were three minutes late, and she looked back up at the panel of grey mirrors above the door. The rule was she wasn’t allowed to touch them unless they needed cleaning, but she had figured out long ago that they were two-ways and that she was probably being watched from the other side - by Dr. Schreyer and Alexander - or ‘Lex’ as he insisted she call him - in all likelihood.

The steel door finally gave a low hiss as it slid open at 0807 and Stormkrigeren rolled her shoulders, putting on a smile to greet her guests.

“Good morning, Dee-Dee.” Lex grinned as he stepped into the room, his dark russet hair bouncing as he nodded in greeting. “Is breakfast all set?”

She didn’t say so, but she secretly despised the endearment which was derived from her English name, ‘Darcie Skye Luthor’. She hated the idea of sharing his surname - but ‘Darcie’ admittedly sounded much less harsh and was easier to say than ‘Stormkrigeren’. It was more… human. Normal. Comforting in its mundanity and a lot less likely to draw attention, though orders had been that only Lex was allowed to call her by it.

“Yes, it’s an Easy American today,” she replied, shoving the recollection aside as she took his coat while Lex headed for the table.

“Доброе утро, Stormkrigeren,” Dr. Schreyer greeted her, her periwinkle turtleneck spotless as usual and Stormkrigeren caught a whiff of lavender as she shook the doctor’s hand.

“Доброе утро, Dr. Schreyer. Как у вас сегодня дела?”

“I’m fine, thank you. Let’s continue this conversation in English, shall we?”

Stormkrigeren nodded obediently and quickly ran to put Lex’s coat in the storage cabinet in the kitchen before returning to the main Room to see her caretaker already at the desk/table, inspecting the layout while Lex watched disinterestedly. Dr. Schreyer hovered over each set of cutlery and dishes, checking for mistakes in the arrangement, but luckily only found one.

“The knife should face in towards the plate, not out,” she commented, pointing out the offending utensil. 

Stormkrigeren remained silent but stood to attention nearby, her hands folded behind her back in preparation for the blow. He always found an excuse to touch her, and she hazarded a guess that he  _ knew _ how much it hurt, so even his hand ‘gently’ squeezing her shoulder in what might have been a soft admonishment, but felt like a slap. He did not remove his hand while Dr. Schreyer completed the inspection, keeping a possessive hold on her before finally relinquishing his grip with a light pat, causing her to suppress a wince. Lex didn’t seem to notice at all and even smiled cheerfully to himself as he stepped forward to pull out a seat for his employee before sitting down himself. “Dee-Dee, I think we’re ready for some of that heavenly bacon I smell.”

Stormkrigeren nodded in acknowledgment, turning to fetch the breakfast from the kitchen. The dishes were still quite warm from the oven and she flinched involuntarily as her bare hands gripped a plate of fried eggs, but she mentally scolded herself for showing such weakness as something as stupid as a small burn, and continued on despite the burning heat. It took her three trips to bring all the food to the table, monitored by Dr. Schreyer’s watchful eye and Lex’s hard gaze as she arranged the dishes and stepped back to let the adults eat. 

She was summoned a few times during the course of their meal, usually for one of them to comment on an undercooked strip of bacon or a burnt slice of toast. Part of her still tensed at every mistake, waiting for the inevitable blow that the older Herr Luthor had usually punished her with, but instead, all she got was a pitying or gently chiding smile from his son. She didn’t know which was worse - the senior’s anger, or the junior’s disappointment - though now she only had to bear the latter, and watched patiently for any other mistakes.

As per Dr. Schreyer’s request, the student stood at her elbow, attentively studying her teacher’s etiquette though they had done this often enough for Stormkrigeren to recognize when her teacher made a mistake.

A very small part of her hungered for the food she herself had made, but she understood the importance of the hierarchy - her superiors always went first to clear the way for her to follow, and it was not her place nor right to have things that were meant for those above her. She simply had to be patient and wait for breakfast to be over when Lex arranged his knife and fork in the ‘finished’ position, standing up to applaud the meal.

“Thank you for brekkies, Dee-Dee,” he praised her in his brisk manner, crumpling his napkin into a ball with a playful smirk on his lips, “It’d be great if we could see each other more often - but unfortunately, duty calls. You have a nice day now!”

He headed for the door without even a glance in her direction, grabbing his coat from the storage closet before he let himself out and the doctor got up to follow him.

“Keep up the good work,” she encouraged her as Stormkrigeren shook her hand goodbye, and then she too was gone.

It was quiet again, just the humming atmospheric regulator and the clink of the dishes as she washed and stacked them, clearing the desk so she could push it back to its usual spot. It only took a few minutes to clean her Rooms back to their former neatness - every dish, surface, and cloth pristine - before she allowed herself to have breakfast. Protein powder and milk made a shake that could last her until the next meal, easily consumable while she returned to writing her thesis paper. 

Stormkrigeren couldn’t say she really enjoyed writing - especially if there was a word goal involved - mostly because she was already pretty good at boiling down complicated thoughts and ideas into simplified, but encompassing explanations. Having to go into extreme detail to describe something as basic as industrial metallurgy was just plain irritating, yet she bore it well and carried on until she had completed her goal for the day.

When that was finished, she performed a grammar and punctuation check on the eighteen chapters she had already completed and only found three mistakes in comma placement, but the paper was otherwise pristine by the time the kitchen clock chimed ten AM. After submitting the file to her doctoral advisor - a nice older man working at Berkeley University who would no doubt email her later about the various mistakes she’d purposefully added to portray the idea that she didn’t have an IQ well over one-hundred-and-eighty - Stormkrigeren got up to perform her stretching routine. 

Fifteen minutes of flexibility training and warm-ups, then an hour of military-intense bodyweight/cardio, and finally half an hour of speed presses using her punching bag as the weight. When that was finished, she hung the bag up on the ceiling rings and proceeded to execute a series of boxing and kicking routines. Two minutes to 1200 hours she took the bag back down to put it away in its cupboard, taking a moment to calm herself both physically and mentally for his arrival.

The familiar click of the automatic lock on the mirrored sliding door leading to the kitchen signaled that the time had come, preventing her from accessing anything in there that could possibly be used by a weapon - but even if she could reach the knives kept there, she wouldn’t have wanted one. Her fists would hopefully be enough.

Once again, Stormkrigeren stood at attention at the door, bowing her head in greeting as he entered the Room. Mister Wilson simply nodded in return, marching past with an air of authority to set his bag down on her empty desk.

“Why do I even come here?” he grumbled to no one in particular as she approached his side.

“To... train me?”

Mister Wilson shook his head, harrumphing softly, “Yeah, but you don’t need it - I’ve met kids twice your age who’ve ‘trained’ and still couldn’t hit the side of a barn with a throwing knife while you’ve already stabbed both my eyes out. I could just stop coming for lessons and you’d still be better than all of them.”

Stormkrigeren smiled, remembering the few times she nearly  _ had _ stabbed his eyes out during blade practice - of course, Mister Wilson was trained too well to ever let it happen and the best she could do was clip at his silver hair, but her attempts had become sort of an inside joke between them. Even so, the idea of Mister Wilson simply not being around any more quickly dampened her mood. She liked her teacher - even if he was a bit rough sometimes - he was still the only person (besides Dr. Schreyer, of course) that Stormkrigeren truly felt comfortable around. Mister Wilson was never too loud or got in her space without asking or made her answer questions for hours on end, and he was very patient with her and taught her things she was actually interested in learning. Not having Mister Wilson around would mean…

Stormkrigeren honestly had no idea what she would do without him.

“In all likelihood, if I conveniently disappeared, the ugly bastard would decide you were ready and set you on my trail. You would fight against me Outside,” he muttered thoughtfully, keeping his voice low so she had to strain her ears to hear him as he pulled two pairs of sickle-like weapons from his bag before glancing her way, “Do you think you’d win, Storm?”

It was a challenge. He wasn’t just asking her if she believed she was ready, if she believed she was good at what she’d learned, if she believed she was worthy of the title ‘warrior’ - he was asking if she believed she was the best. Saying yes would be revoking him of his status in the meager hierarchy that defined her life, and claiming that she, the Student, was better than her Master.

“No,” she said softly, knowing it was the truth.

“Good. Humility and staying alert are key virtues when battling an opponent. Explain why.”

Stormkrigeren complied. “Humility prevents you from overestimating your prowess and underestimating your rival. Staying alert prepares you for an unexpected attack from any direction, even from one you believe to be safe.”

“And what are these?” he asked, handing her a pair of the curved blades.

“鎌 or がま,” she answered in perfect Japanese, taking a pair as they were passed to her, “‘Kama, or gama, are traditional Japanese farming implements similar to the sickle used for reaping crops and are also employed as a weapon throughout various Southern Asian cultures.’”

Mr. Wilson nodded in approval. “Starting position. Blades low at your sides.”

In the blink of an eye, she was ready, feet spread apart in a lunge with a low center of balance for optimal reaction to an attack with as little adjustments as possible. Mister Wilson frowned, still not entirely satisfied with her form, and had her crouch a little closer to the ground before they began combat.

Mr. Wilson was a good foot-and-a-half taller than her and much heavier - not to mention his advantage of experience. When they sparred, Stormkrigeren was often reminded of little David facing off the towering Goliath, doomed to lose the battle the moment he stepped up. And just like everyone had told him, every day, every fight, she lost the match and some blood. But she reminded herself that even with all the odds against him, David still felled his giant, and she could too if only she learned to sling a little better and fight a little harder. So she fought all the harder.

Stormkrigeren gripped the leather and wood in her palm, swinging low at his ankles only for him to jump over the blade and reply with a hack at her backside. She rolled, letting it glance off her ribs as she hooked one of her double kai around his and struck at his side with the other. He deflected it with his free blade and twisted his weapon out of her grasp, making two quick swipes at her head to keep her off guard. Steel met blood, but she did not cry out or flinch at the fresh wounds on her jaw and throat.

“Use the pain!” he urged her, “Let it drive you! Take the strength it gives you and use it against your opponent!”

Stormkrigeren growled, throwing herself into the fight as she slipped beneath his reach and again hooking his kai to wrench it from his grip, simultaneously butting the head of her other kai against his shoulder and twisting it around to gouge his bicep - but he was too fast. With a chop at her wrist, he deflected the slice and threw his weight against her left leg in an attempt to topple her off-balance. She stumbled, but lunged out of his way, replying with a back-kick to his hip and a swift swing at his left arm. He reacted quickly, moving his limb out of the way, but she was just as fast and made another slash towards his arm.

She drew blood.

A brief flicker of pain passed over his face before Mr. Wilson shut it out, but she saw it and knew she had made a mistake. Her kama fell from her grasp as she dropped to her knees, hands folded behind her back as she bowed her head in submission.

“I submit to my punishment,” she said softly, her words almost drowned out by the sound of their panting. Mister Wilson’s usual glare hardened.

“What are you doing?” he growled, and she shrank lower in response.

“I-I made a mistake-”

“What the hell has that dog of a Luthor been teaching you?” she heard him mutter before her Teacher swore under his breath and picked up her fallen weapons, “Get up off the floor, Storm.”

She obeyed, pulling herself to her feet and standing to attention in expectance of at least a harsh rebuke, but all he told her was, “Spit it out.”

She spat, the drop on the floor more blood than saliva, but the injury did nothing to dull her savagery as she bared her teeth in a feral snarl.

“Good,” Mr. Wilson praised, shoving her kama back into her hands, “No weakness, no hesitation, and no mercy. You get one hit in, you sure as hell go in for another. Understand?”

She nodded and gripped the weapons tighter, dropping back into the starting position. Mr. Wilson nodded and rewarded her with a hint of a smile.

“Now, fight.”

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

The lights had been out for nearly an hour when the metallic taste of blood finally left her tongue. She’d had to clean her injuries without help and luckily had gotten permission from Dr. Schreyer to bandage the ones on her throat that took longer to stop bleeding. Mr. Wilson had left a few hours and combat practices later, considering her exhausted and injured enough for the day. She had not been able to draw any additional blood after that afternoon’s incident, but she thought she’d scored enough bruising hits to be at least satisfactory in her proficiency of the kama.

The lesson had ended as always, with the usual cleaning and examination of the weapons used that day before Mr. Wilson took his leave. Stormkrigeren had an hour to eat and clean up any blood that had spilled on the concrete floor during practice before performing her nightly routine. It was only a few stretches and yoga positions to help her relax in preparation for sleep, but in her opinion, they didn’t seem to do much. After that, she brushed her teeth and hair, washed off any additional blood, cleaned her face, slipped into her pajamas, and ended off by taking some time to wash her hands again. It wasn’t exactly necessary or useful, yet she still did it anyway, if only just to know that she was going to bed clean. She’d already been doing it for a few months before the symbolism dawned on her - that she was washing her hands of any wrong deeds she had done that day. Her entire life, every movement, every breath, was strictly controlled by her Watchers, and Stormkrigeren had no say in what they were training her to become. When Mister Wilson had first arrived, he had claimed to be there to teach her how to  _ fight _ , but she could never shake the feeling that the art Lex had him teach her was one more of attack than of defense.

The lights never went out when she expected them to - for a long time, it had been a sudden shock when they suddenly turned off, setting her on edge as she was forced to feel around the large Room for her mattress. Eventually, she got used to the unexpected darkness and grew accustomed to blindly locating her bed every night, where she would quietly make herself comfortable with her one blanket hugged to her chest. Despite the ever-changing temperature in her Rooms, she never seemed to get cold enough to use the blanket for its intended use, and wrapping it around herself felt too much like being bound or trapped in a net. Plus sleeping without it gave her free movement, which would be crucial when Mister Wilson returned.

Sometime during her sixth year, it’d been decided that some of Mister Wilson’s hours as her Teacher would be dedicated to ‘night training’. It was similar to her usual lessons with her Teacher in that they practiced through combat, except that now she was forced to attempt disarming him in the dark. Mr. Wilson was her better by far, but he had even more experience in the darkness while all she had were her fists.

Stormkrigeren clenched them on the mattress and exhaled slowly, her eyes closed as she allowed her keen hearing to pick up any unusual sounds echoing in her cavernous Room. The atmospheric regulator was always on, the glorified air-con humming as incessantly as ever and possibly canceling out any noise Mister Wilson made as he entered. He was a master of silent movement - so much so that for the first few months of night training she hadn’t noticed him until he was right beside her. By now she had learned to listen and recognize the sounds associated with an intruder, so she lay alert to wait patiently for them to reach her ears - waiting for his arrival.

Stormkrigeren guessed she had been in bed for a little under an hour, muscles taut in expectation and ears pricking up at the slightest sound, when she finally picked up the low hiss of a door opening. Silently, she picked herself up and padded towards the nearest wall, all the while listening for any more clues to Mister Wilson’s whereabouts. For a long moment she heard nothing, and she wondered if she had imagined the sound when her sensitive hearing detected the unmistakable grated swish of steel leaving a scabbard.

She turned her back to the concrete wall so he couldn’t sneak up behind her, and faced the void. Sight was useless, so her only warning was the slight stirring of the air as the blade swung at her shoulder.

Stormkrigeren ducked beneath the blow and kicked out at where she assumed his legs would be - and her guess proved correct as her foot made contact with his shin. He gave a swift reply as the sword bit into her arm as she rolled out of his way, but not without another kick in the direction of his left knee. The strike was ill-timed and she didn’t hit the joint with enough force to hurt him, only alerting him to her location.

The sword descended on her once more and she grunted in pain as it cut into the skin above her shoulder, yet did not let the agony cloud her thinking as her hand shot up to wrap around his wrist. Mr. Wilson pulled back and she held her grip, twisting as hard as she could until he was forced to release his weapon. It hit the floor with a sharp clang - in an instant, they were both lunging to claim the advantage.

She was lighter and faster than him, her fist closing around the hilt a moment before another blade slashed across her thigh. Stormkrigeren gritted her teeth, swallowing back a scream as she turned to force him away with a flurry of jabs and cuts, a few even hitting their intended mark. Mr. Wilson was not put off by the offensive maneuver and moved to turn her own move against her, dropping low to kick her ankles out from under her. In the darkness, Stormkrigeren barely had time to perceive and react to the attack, jumping out of the way so he missed her by a hairsbreadth, yet he sensed the defense and replied with a sharp upward chop with his own sword. She inhaled sharply as it bit into her forearm, and she struggled to remain in control of the muscle spasm that threatened to make her drop her precious weapon, but Stormkrigeren managed to overcome the pain a moment too late as Mr. Wilson reclaimed his katana. She had no time to think and no light to see the thrust aimed at her injured shoulder, but years of daily drills had not been for nothing. Her left hand curled around his wrist holding the sword while her right formed into a fist, her knuckles cracking against his helmet as she struck him as hard as she could. The blow sent him off balance and Mister Wilson stumbled, giving her the opening she needed to jab her knee into his chest and successfully force him to the ground. Stormkrigeren did not give herself any congratulations for the hard-won position, which she quickly lost as Mister Wilson used their momentum to pitch her over him and she heard a muffled crack as she was forced to roll with the throw. Agony sparked in her side, but she had no chance to address it as she jumped to her feet, searching wildly for her opponent until she felt the sharp steel edge slide over her throat. She had lost.

They were both panting for breath when the lights blinked to life a moment later, revealing Mister Wilson’s katana pressed against her exposed throat in the winning position, one she herself would have held if she could have only pinned him down.

Stormkrigeren unclenched her fists at her sides, giving her Teacher a hard stare as he lowered his weapon to remove his battered orange-and-black helmet. He frowned and retrieved a stopwatch from his belt, holding it up so she could see that the hands had stopped just before the twenty-five-minute mark. Pride swelled up in her that she had managed to last so long against her Teacher, and he gave her a slight nod of approval in acknowledgment of the fact, but she knew he would never give her much more praise than that. Still, it proved that she was getting better at the one thing she truly enjoyed.

Mr. Wilson took a long moment to wipe her blood off his blade while she watched in silence before he sighed, pointing towards her desk. “Back to work, Stormkrigeren.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> by the way, we are still on track to fully complete this fic on the 31st of December.


	16. Rule #12: Do not resist an order form your superior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! I hope all of my wonderful readers are having a wonderful day! A quick warning that this chapter is slightly more violent than usual and touches on some heavy topics (this chapter is one of the reasons the fic is tagged with Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con), but it is all well within the fic's rating. Please comment and kudos below, I love to hear from y'all!
> 
> Year Thirteen.

Stormkrigeren could count the times she had been outside her Rooms on both hands - or rather, she could count the times she had been drugged for surgery outside the Rooms on both hands. There were a few instances when she had been very young and unable to run away that Dr. Schreyer had allowed her up into the Watching Room, and once even Outside (late at night, of course). But after Mr. Wilson’s arrival, those instances had stopped and were replaced by unconscious visits to the operating room.

There usually wasn’t any announcement, just a dose of strong sedatives during her weekly checkup before she woke up a few hours later back in her Rooms with a bandage and a new scar. Up until the previous month, the last time it had occurred had been a year ago. As usual, she was sedated and woke up with a relatively small scar on her left hip, and half a centimeter below it was a hard bump that hadn’t been there before. She assumed that was when they had inserted her tracking device. But last month it had happened again.

Dr. Schreyer had been drawing her blood during Stormkrigeren’s weekly checkup. She always took two samples in case one was contaminated somehow, and two samples meant she needed two vials. Stormkrigeren was acutely aware of this fact after years of repeatedly taking the same medical tests every week, so she had not put much effort into watching Schreyer do her work and contemplated the concrete ceiling instead. It was only when the doctor had begun to attach a third vial already filled with a clear liquid that Stormkrigeren had noticed the anomaly and instinctively withdrew her arm.

“Darcie,” Lisa had chided her gently, holding out her hand for the patient’s wrist, but Stormkrigeren just shook her head.

“You’ll get in trouble if he hears you call me that.”

Dr. Schreyer looked like she was about to reply, then paused and let out a low sigh, “It’ll be over quickly, and I’ll see if I can’t get some nectarines for you when you get back.”

Stormkrigeren had hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her and she had reluctantly surrendered her arm.

“Am I allowed to know what will be done to me?” she had asked, watching as the clear liquid trickled into her vein. The stuff was fast-acting and she was already feeling a bit fuzzy when Dr. Schreyer shook her head.

“No. Just try not to think about it and get some sleep,” Lisa had told her. Stormkrigeren had been too tired to argue for information and instead leaned back in her chair as the sedative took hold. She couldn’t remember exactly how long she had been under, but when she came to, she was on her mattress in the Rooms, feeling a bit sore around the middle and with a wide bandage over her lower abdomen. While changing it the next day, she spotted the slim cut in her belly button and another in the space below, immediately recognizing them as the external marks of tubal ligation.

She had every right to be furious - Lex had taken something from her that could never be replaced, but despite how much she hated the violation, Stormkrigeren could not remain angry over it for long. For a brief time, she was saddened by the loss, yet even at her youthful age, she recognized it as a small freedom. Now there could be no one to tie her down and no one to worry about when she ran free in the Outside. Of course, there were times when she would remember and wish things had been different - maybe she would want a child of her own when she was older - but then she would remind herself that every freedom had a price.

That had been a month ago, and by now the scars had faded so they were no longer uncomfortable and she was more worried about the fresh wounds from her night training with Mr. Wilson than any past injuries - though the way Lex was staring at her was a little unnerving as well.

They were sitting on the floor in the largest of her Rooms, Stormkrigeren taking notes from her computer for a class in pharmacology, and Lex sitting nearby scribbling in his own notebook he usually carried with him - though he honestly spent more time watching her than writing. It was not uncommon for him to visit unexpectedly and simply observe as she went about her day, or “just getting to know her better” as he liked to call it, so she said nothing and ignored him as best she could.

“Are you happy?” he asked suddenly, pulling her out of the study daze to consider the question. A pencil flew towards her face, but she batted it away before it reached its target and Stormkrigeren glared at Lex inquisitively.

“You didn’t answer immediately,” he frowned, twirling a pen between his fingers as if he were preparing to throw it next, “I asked if you were happy, Dee-Dee.”

“I guess so,” she answered quickly. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but she knew thinking longer about a proper answer would lead to punishment in the form of another tossed pen. Lex’s smile returned at her speedy reply.

“And you have everything you need?”

“Yes,” she nodded slowly, wondering where he was going with this.

“Your caretakers - they treat you right?”

“Yes.”

With the exception of Lex himself. Dr. Schreyer and Mr. Wilson were only doing their jobs, and injuries she gained were usually by accident while training.

“You’re not worried about anything? No anxiety?” Lex asked, his tone filled with heartfelt concern, but she could not shake the feeling that he was trying to trip her up. Stormkrigeren shook her head ‘no’ at the question and Lex smiled.

“That’s good. You’re not allowed to have bad days, Darcie.”

Something in the way he said it almost made her flinch and she shot him another inquisitive look as he stood up, hoping he would elaborate his meaning. Lex did not, smoothing back his russet hair instead as he replaced his notebook in his coat pocket and headed for the door.

“Pack up - it’s bedtime,” he called back to her as he exited the Room before the door hissed closed behind him, leaving Stormkrigeren’s silent questions still unanswered.

The overhead lights turned off a few moments later, surrounding her in complete darkness except for the glow from her computer screen. By its light, she managed to collect and put away her study items, but she did not immediately begin to prepare for bed. Stormkrigeren had just finished night training almost three hours before - it should have been nowhere near time for her to attempt sleep. It was most likely just another one of Mr. Wilson’s tests meant to keep her on her toes, and as there was not much she could do by her dim computer light, Stormkrigeren decided it would be better to obey.

She went through her usual routine and toilet despite having done it only a few hours before, trying to ignore her reluctance to go back into the dark Room when the soft glow of the kitchen lights was so much more welcoming. They would turn off if she lingered too long, so not wanting to be suddenly left in the dark, Stormkrigeren made her way to bed.

The sheets seemed rougher than usual that night as she hugged the blanket to her chest, but she refused to tuck it around herself despite the chill in the air. She raised her head to shake out her flattened locks still damp from the shower and stared up at the black ceiling while she waited for Mr. Wilson’s arrival. He usually came within forty-five minutes of when she laid down to rest, though it was not rare for him to take longer. This seemed to be one of those nights and Stormkrigeren silently kept track of each minute as it passed, leaving her alone in the freezing darkness.

She could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, that the darkness might never leave, but she shoved the thought away and continued to wait.

Sleep was almost impossible at this point, she was so cold and taut with nervous energy, waiting for something, anything to happen. Stormkrigeren had lost track of time at some point, but she knew the lights had been out for far longer than ever before.

She got up to pace the Room from one wall to the other and back, becoming increasingly nervous with each step. It was too cold, too dark, too quiet - something had to be wrong. She considered trying to turn on the lights in the kitchen or bathroom but decided against it after realizing that it would be weakness to try to leave a test. True strength lay with patience and perseverance. She would wait.

Walking in the darkness kept her somewhat warm, but the low temperatures and the stress of constant vigilance eventually got to her. Stormkrigeren tried to ignore it, but exhaustion was quickly draining her strength and her muscles felt like they were made of lead as she continued to pace the Room, until finally she was forced to stop. She fell asleep collapsed on her mattress, for once her blanket tucked up around her to stave off the cold as she drifted into a fitful sleep.

Stormkrigeren was unsure how much time had passed before the sound of a door sliding open jerked her awake, and in an instant, she was on her feet to address the threat. A soft golden light was spilling into the Room through the kitchen doorway, and through the gap, she could see a familiar figure habitually prepping the coffee maker.

Drawn towards the warm light, Stormkrigeren reluctantly joined Lex in the kitchen, where he acknowledged her with a small nod but otherwise did not tear his gaze away from the dripping pot. He was wearing what she assumed to be his pajamas - a cotton sports tee with Metropolis Metros emblazoned on the front and a pair of flannel sweatpants. It was only then that she noticed the Glock on the counter beside him. Lex noticed her gaze lingering on the weapon and hefted it casually in his left hand.

“Sleep okay?” he asked in a soft voice.

She hesitated, unsure if the first reply that came to mind would anger him, then a brief wave of panic rushed through her when she realized she had taken too long to answer, so she quickly stated the first thing that came to mind with a shrug as she rubbed her arms.

“It was a little cold.”

Lex just smiled and opened a cupboard to grab a clean mug. “I’ll see if something can’t be done about that.”

His expression darkened suddenly and unexpectedly as he sighed in frustration, running a hand through his russet hair.

“I’ve got some debts I need to collect on, Dee-Dee,” he muttered just loud enough for her to hear. Stormkrigeren watched wordlessly as he removed the pot from the coffee maker to calmly fill his mug with the dark brew, his expression neutral as he brought it to his lips. She wisely decided against asking him what he meant, knowing that Lex would fill the silence - and he did. Taking a long swig from his coffee, he set it down and finally looked her way.

“Darcie. You know that you owe me.”

She hated when he used her ‘human’ name - the one he had chosen for her, the one he had given her. It was a subtle reminder of just how little control she had over her own life and how much she had to depend on Lex to provide for and protect her. Stormkrigeren nodded slowly in agreement. She owed him everything she was.

“I won’t make you pay all of it back now,” he said gently, “Just a little bit.”

Lex raised the gun to aim in her direction and nodded his head towards the bathroom behind them, clearly threatening her if she did not obey. She knew what would happen if she did not follow orders, but she also knew what would happen if she did. Stormkrigeren frowned down the barrel of the weapon, bravely refusing to move.

Alexander only sighed and took the safety off as he moved a step closer to press the muzzle against her left shoulder. He knew her well enough to understand that death wouldn’t mean anything her, but an injury to an essential joint could put her down for weeks, maybe even months, unable to defend herself and unable to fight. Thanks to his father’s, and later his own gentle persuasion, combat had become the focus of the little Stormkrigeren’s life - but this was one thing she could not fight.

Stormkrigeren glared at him as she obediently folded her hands behind her back and Lex moved to stand behind her, shifting his weapon to her shoulderblade before nudging her in the direction of the bathroom. The constant pressure of the cold steel ring against her skin forced her forward into the small room, pressing her up against the tiled wall as Lex locked the door with his free hand. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him remove two plastic cable-ties from his pocket and struggle to insert the end of one into the other using only his right hand. As he concentrated on tightening the makeshift handcuffs around her wrists, the pressure of the gun on her shoulder lessened for a brief moment, and Stormkrigeren did not hesitate to take advantage of it.

She kicked out at his ankle, knocking him off balance as he howled in pain and she was aware of the gun going off near her head as she dove for his throat. He fired once more and she was aware of a hot flash of pain in her side, but Stormkrigeren ignored it, loosening her bonds just enough to slip her hands out and wrap them around his windpipe. She was a moment too late - the muzzle of his weapon was already shoved into her hip. They both froze, panting face to face as Lex smiled. Both of them knew that he could put a bullet in her long before she could strangle him or perform a nerve strike. He had won.

“Let go of me, Darcie,” he simpered calmly, “You don’t want me to turn all the lights in your Room off forever, do you?”

Stormkrigeren was considering all her options, desperately hoping that there was some way to get him to release her, for her to escape, for someone to save her, but to no avail. It was either obedience or her ability to fight back - and there was no way she was letting him take that from her. It was with great reluctance that Stormkrigeren finally released her grip and allowed him to bind her hands. Lex towered over her, pressing his body onto hers as he forced her up against the wall with his free hand delicately stroking her burned side. She promised herself that she would be strong, that she would be brave, but she could not help but be afraid with his breath hot on her neck as he slipped beneath her waistband.

“Pay up, Dee-Dee,” he murmured.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Though it felt like an eternity, he finally left, and she was left on the floor to pick up the pieces. The bastard had not bothered to untie her, though Stormkrigeren most likely would have killed him if he had. After a brief struggle, she managed to get up onto her feet and snap the cable ties that were rubbing her wrists raw, though she trembled from the effort. He would be back - there was no shred of doubt in her mind that he would return to collect the rest of her debt - though how much more she would have to bear to repay it all, she did not know.

Stormkrigeren glared at her reflection in the mirror and a weak, scared little girl stared back. She hated it, she hated what he had made her, she hated herself for letting him get the best of her, she hated that she would not be able to fight back when he came again. There was no place to run, only white walls and dark mirrors.

Her fist shattered the mirror with a single blow and the shards of glass fell to the concrete floor, leaving Stormkrigeren’s broken reflection scattered on the ground. She did not allow herself to look down, to look herself in the eye, and examined her hand instead, which was surprisingly unharmed from punching the mirror. She glared at the unbloodied fist for a long moment, more questions forming in her head, but she had neither the strength nor the peace of mind to even attempt to answer them. She dropped her fist with an inaudible sigh and moved to turn the shower on.

The hot water helped to calm her racing heart and soothe the bruises she had earned during the ordeal, and she felt a little better after getting dressed in some clean clothes - enough so that she felt justified in glaring up at the Watching Room as soon as the lights came back on.

Nothing happened. No one came down to examine the bruises clearly visible on her throat, no voice came through the speakers asking if she was all right, and no shadow appeared behind the two-way mirrors to even give her the satisfaction of acknowledgment. She wanted to scream, to make someone see her, to bring attention to herself and her pain and the injustice done.

Nothing happened. No one came. That is how the world works, she decided, they shatter you into ten-thousand shiny little pieces and lock you in with no one but yourself to try and pick them up.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

“Concentrate,” he growled, thrusting his blade through her defenses to cut the skin beneath her shirt. Stormkrigeren managed to suppress a pained grimace, but the attack had set her off-balance and she stumbled. The tip of his dagger was pressed against her breastbone in an instant as Mr. Wilson frowned.

“I told you to concentrate, Storm. You lacked vigilance, and it could have cost you your life if this had been a real battle.”

“I will do better,” she promised, ducking beneath his blade as she got up to raise her knives in the ‘ready’ position. They began again, steel against steel, deflecting and attacking to break apart before coming together again. Stormkrigeren fulfilled her promise and was putting more effort into each of her strikes than she had been previously, but she still lacked vigilance. Mr. Wilson nicked her side again to see if the pain would wake her up, yet she barely flinched and only glared up at her teacher as she moved to throw off his next blow. She reacted too late when he knocked the dagger from her hand and tripped her into a headlock, his blade against her throat. Stormkrigeren could feel her Teacher’s gaze on her neck, no doubt noticing the bruises she had neglected to cover up.

“It’s makeup,” she lied, “Schreyer was teaching me how to use it and I must have forgotten to wash it off my fingers.”

“You forgot?” Wilson asked slowly, grabbing her wrist with his free hand and turning it over so they could both see her clean hand, “You should really pay more attention, Storm.”

He released his hold, allowing her to stumble away and bow her head in shame, “Yes, sir.”

“You do that,” he growled, dropping back into the ‘ready’ position, “Blades up.”

They resumed practice as before, though Stormkrigeren still struggled to keep her mind on the task at hand, and Mr. Wilson could not blame her. He knew he should point it out, it was his job, he was being paid to teach her to fight and there was no sense in getting protective of someone who he was training to become a rival - but he also knew that Luthor had choked her and God knows what else. No one deserved that kind of treatment, even someone as dangerous as his student. There was not much he could do to help except give her time to recover, so against his better judgment, Mister Wilson went a little gentler as they fought.

Stormkrigeren must have been paying more attention than he had thought and spotted his show of weakness almost immediately when he ignored a movement that clearly left her open.

“Stop it,” she panted, hurriedly parrying his easily defendable blow. Mr. Wilson gave her one of his rare smirks and struck a little harder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the original version of this chapter (uploaded as part of Red Capes: Saviors at the start of 2020), I got a few questions about the implied non-con and I just wanted to confirm that yes, Stormkrigeren is aware that she could easily take Alexander down even with multiple bullet wounds, so it’s not about her being injured, but about what the injuries would do to her in the long-term. There’s a reason Slade is the only one who injures her during training because he can be trusted to only leave surface wounds that won’t be debilitating as she grows and gets older. The entire purpose of the Rooms is to ensure that when she gets out, she will be running at peak performance and have the self-preservation to make sure she stays that way for as long as possible (she becomes ‘a weapon capable of improving/maintaining itself’), and both resisting a superior and allowing herself to be permanently injured goes against the purpose that has been drilled into her head from Day One. Not only would she be physically injured, but it’d likely mess her up psychologically as well.


	17. Rule #13: Do not forget what you have learned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! Another chapter for y'all! A bit short, but action-packed.

“How many?”

“Three,” she panted, the word floating away in a cloud of steam as it met the freezing air. Readjusting her hands around the hilt of the blade, Stormkrigeren struck at her teacher with a low sideswipe, but he easily deflected it.

“Sloppy,” Mr. Wilson rebuked her, replying with a slash to her left bicep, “I was told it was eighteen.”

She inhaled sharply at the pain in her arm, ducking low to avoid his next hit and thrust at an undefended shin.

“Eighteen total, but only three are certified. The rest I did at my own pace or never turned in,” she corrected, breathing hard as he quickly shielded against her thrust.

“Bullshit. Why not?”

Wilson swept his foot and sword out simultaneously, forcing her to defend from both with a raised leg and a hurried parry.

“No university in their right mind would believe that I completed multiple four-year courses, with two-hundred-page theses for each, in only a year,” she replied. Wilson frowned and merely grunted in agreement.

“In what areas?”

Stormkrigeren swore under her breath as his blade slammed against her’s with the screech of steel on steel, but managed to shove his aside and once again slip out of his attack zone.

“Medicine and Pharmacology,” she began. Her sword struck against his armor, causing nothing more than a light bruise, but he would praise her later. Hits were hard to get. “Physics and Astrophysics.”

His boot impacted her shoulder and she rolled with the blow, coming up beside him. “Official certification for Mechanical Engineering, another certificate in Electrical Engineering.”

Mr. Wilson expected the move and grabbed her by her tank top. “Thesis in Psychology.”

Stormkrigeren chopped at his wrist with her sword and he released her as she continued to recite. “More in Computer Science and Cyber Securities”

A swift hail of blows rained down on her as she struggled to keep her ground. “Thesis for Jurisprudence and another official certificate in International Law.”

She managed to fend off a thrust to her hip only to earn a stab in her shoulder, wincingly retaliating with a chop in his blind spot. “Accounting, Management, and Business.”

Sword met armor and she smiled, knowing it’d be more than a light bruise. The smile vanished as he knocked the blade from her hands. “Government.”

Her body automatically assumed a fighter’s stance and she moved to retrieve her weapon only to have Mr. Wilson ram her into the cold wall. 

“World History.” She gasped, summoning the strength to wrap her leg around his and set him off balance. “Journalism, too.”

A sharp back kick and two swift punches to his jaw nearly put him off, but he was stronger and within moments had her back against the wall, his sword at her throat. The digital clock high on the mirrored eastern wall buzzed to signify that training was over, but he still did not free her. 

“You said eighteen,” he growled. She smiled, unfazed by the murderous hand press tightly against her throat.

“A thesis in Linguistics.”

He released her and she stumbled away from the white concrete wall, massaging her sore neck. Small rivulets of blood flowed from her fresh wounds while the older ones had already dried, in total amounting to twenty-three deep gashes and forty-eight scrapes, but she wouldn’t treat any of them beyond running water over it.

Mr. Wilson was already seated on the floor, wiping the bloodspots off his katana and she joined him, taking up a cloth to clean whatever marks her weapon may have acquired. They sat in silence, the only sounds in the white Room being the swish of cloth against steel and the low hum of the air conditioner bringing the temperature back up from negative-thirty-six degrees Celsius, the cold having been meant to increase her stamina in harsh conditions.

“You need to focus,” he commented. “More effort. More training. Put your head in the game.”

She grunted in response, knowing any form of backtalk would be treated with lashes, but he wasn’t done yet. “Maybe it’d be a bit easier for you if you weren’t such a submissive bitch-”

Her blade clashed against his and she pushed him away, attacking with a whirlwind of intricate strikes to put him on his guard. It worked and he thrust at her with a lower left arch, but she expected it, using her agility and small figure to duck under the blow and vault over his shoulder while he was bent low. The movement got her onto his back and in an instant, her sword was at his throat. 

“I am not… a dog,” she panted. “I surrender to none.”

Mr. Wilson smiled. “As it should be.”

He pitched forward suddenly without any warning, effectively loosening her grip and dropping her to the floor. Stormkrigeren rolled with the fall, fighting back a wince as she got up off the concrete, but more upset that she had been caught off guard than at the pain. Knowing that the lesson was over, she obediently gave her blade one last wipe before sliding it into its sheath as her teacher did the same. Mister Wilson picked up the small duffel containing their training weapons, nodding curtly to his student, and headed for the door leading out of her Rooms. Just as he reached it, he paused and swiveled on his heel to throw the spike in her direction. She reacted immediately, dropping low so that the weapon would fly past her and catching it deftly by its ‘safe end’. Wilson’s silver whiskers lifted in a small smile at her reflexes.

“Hang onto that. Schreyer said it was yours.”

The reinforced steel door hissed shut behind him, leaving her alone once again with only her thoughts and the mirrored wall.

Stormkrigeren sat down on the concrete floor to examine the throwing spike, twisting it in her hands so it’s dull gleam caught the light of the fluorescent lamps on the ceiling. It was small, maybe about the size and length of her second finger tapering down to a point that wasn’t quite sharp enough for it to be considered a weapon, but she knew anything could be a weapon if used correctly. The top was flat and slightly angled, shaped sort of like a five-sided shield emblazoned with an embellished capital S while the rest of the spike was lined with grooves dented and pockmarked so mechanically it could only have been intentional. It was obviously made of some sort of alloy, maybe steel and magnesium, colored a dull silvery grey. The design reminded her of a bone structure or maybe even some sort of key. All she knew for certain was that it belonged to her.


	18. Rule #14: Do not allow yourself to be captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! A quick warning that like Rule #12, this chapter also touches on some non-con topics (still very well within range for this fic's rating), but I'd also like to warn y'all that some waterboarding does occur 'on-screen' along with a semi-debilitating injury. Nothing extremely serious, though it may be confusing or frightening for some younger readers, which is why this fic is rated Teen.

“Mister Wilson isn’t coming today,” he told her, “So I guess I’m going to be overseeing your training instead.”

She nodded in acknowledgment. Lex had taught a few of her lessons before - mostly in the field of business management, and they often simply consisted of the two of them going over LexCorp monthly reports from the various subsidies. He was a virtual genius when it came to organization and market prediction but was terrible at explaining himself, so most of his supposed ‘training’ ended with him marching off in frustration and leaving Stormkrigeren to try and decipher his cryptic notes scribbled on the reports all by herself. She suspected it would be the same today, but was pleasantly surprised to see that he wasn’t carrying any of the usual papers, portfolios, or notebooks that acted as teaching material for his lessons - he must have come to teach her something new.

“So I know I’m not Mister Wilson, but I see no reason we should deviate from his usual routine,” Lex announced, surveying the walls of her Room with clear interest as he spotted the climbing grips that hung there, “How about we start with some warm-ups? You can show me some of the climbing work Wilson’s been doing with you - does that sound good?”

“Yes, sir,” she agreed, holding back a small smile. It sounded great - the physical lessons were always more enjoyable than the ones involving book-learning or writing, and it gave her a chance to show off her climbing skills.

At his assent, she moved a few paces away from the wall before jogging quickly towards it, launching herself at the last second into a precise wall run that carried her a few meters up the wall before she found a comfortable grip. Stormkrigeren swore she could feel his eyes on her back as she adjusted her position and reached for another grip to her right, carefully moving herself horizontally along the wall. Climbing vertically was easy enough - as long as one had a fluid upward motion with the correct balance, they could get decently high at a good pace, but climbing horizontally was a completely different matter. It required a stronger sense of balance, more muscles to be working tirelessly, and oftentimes put more weight or stress on any of the four main contact points. The greater the distance traveled this way, the harder it would be to achieve her goal at the far end of the climbing wall - but Stormkrigeren reached it nonetheless, and allowed herself a simple celebratory flip off of her perch to land safely on the floor, turning finally to Lex to hear his verdict.

“That was pretty good,” he beamed, having watched the entire performance with devout interest, “But I noticed you didn’t go very high up the wall. Do you think you could reach the top? How about that one handhold up there - near the top, sorta shaped like a golf ball?”

Stormkrigeren followed his gaze to one of the higher grips on the climbing wall, near the ceiling that usually took some effort to reach, but she had done it a few times before.

“Simple,” she replied confidently, buoyed up by his enthusiasm until Lex’s grin turned devious.

“I’m sure it is, but would you still be so confident if you had to do it with your hands tied?”

She stiffened instantly at the suggestion, immediately on guard and eyeing him distrustfully to see what he meant by his words. Stormkrigeren realized she must have forgotten to keep a blank face like Mister Wilson had taught her, making her suspicion clearly obvious, because the next thing she knew, Lex was actually  _ laughing _ at her. 

“You’re such an open book!” he teased, recognizing the distrust on her face and chortling good-naturedly before sobering at her discomfort, “Look, Darcie, I know you’re a bit gun-shy of me - who only knows why, but you should know me well enough by now to know I don’t mean anything by a couple of zipties. I’ll even tie them in front for you!”

Stormkrigeren frowned, not liking the idea of being restrained while Lex still had free movement, but also not wanting to be seen as weak for turning down such a simple challenge. She hesitated a moment before relenting, obediently presenting her wrists to him so he could bind them where she could watch, but she was still a bit wary of turning her back to a possible attacker.

Lex stepped back after making sure the ties were suitably secured, giving her some room to make the attempt. Stormkrigeren ignored him and pulled her knees up in a quick jump to swing her hands behind her back, making an already hard task of trying to grab the handhold while restrained even harder by forcing her to perform without even seeing her goal. She could do it. She had to.

Like before, she moved a few paces back from the wall and spread her feet in a runner’s stance, mentally calculating the jump, impact, and path required in order to gain enough speed to vertically scale the wall without her hands. Taking a deep breath to calm the nerves that were buzzing through her at a thousand miles per hour, Stormkrigeren ran. 

She left the ground a mere meter away from the wall, launching herself upwards with practiced ease earned from hours of jumping practice with Mister Wilson, teaching her to move swift and sudden like lightning over the sea. Her forward foot hit the vertical concrete at a familiar angle, giving her the traction she needed to push herself farther up and take another step towards the ceiling before she began to use the grips to assist her ascent. The solid plastic ‘rocks’ in her climbing wall were purposefully small, but they provided less room for error and an easier landing place for her next step than the wall itself. Stormkrigeren had to move quickly to keep her momentum, scaling the obstacle at a good pace before she reached her goal of the uppermost grip. This was the hardest part - swinging herself around so that her backside was to the concrete in order to catch the grip with her restrained hands, while also maintaining a steady balance against the wall so that she didn’t force her shoulders out of their sockets again (she knew the pain of a dislocated joint all too well). Despite the odds required to complete the objective, she managed it. A final kick off the wall, an instant 180-degree turn, pushing her back forward and her hips back to maintain balance while giving her arms the chance to locate the grip - and grasp it tightly.

Lex nearly yelled with excitement, clapping his hands emphatically like a little boy who had just seen a magic trick when she managed to successfully reach the goal, but Stormkrigeren simply smiled from her perch on the wall, shoving her heels against the concrete in order to keep her shoulders at a comfortable angle.

“That was  _ amazing _ !” he exclaimed, “Do you think you’ll get down okay with your hands tied? Wait, hold on, I’ll grab the scissors - be right back.”

Lex disappeared into the kitchen in search of the cutting utensil as Stormkrigeren prepared to let herself go from the precarious handhold. Slowly, she released her grip, carefully keeping her knees and heels together as she fell before hitting the concrete below with a light thud. Landing on the balls of her feet, she quickly tucked her body forward into a landing roll to reduce the risk of injury, and managed to successfully avoid much more than a sore shoulder and ankles, coming up from the roll just as Lex returned.

His hand caught her upper arm as if to help her up, but she couldn’t help but notice how his grip was a little too tight to simply be assistance. She tensed at his unwanted touch, his skin against hers, yet Stormkrigeren knew better than to resist and kept her discomfort to herself.

“I was thinking of maybe doing some swimming lessons,” Lex suggested brightly, completely ignorant of her rubbing the spot on her arm where he had touched her a moment ago as he cut her bonds with an easy snip of the scissors, “My coach at the Y was showing me some techniques the other day and it made me think of you. Since, you know, you’ve never really tried. But I think I can fix that.”

He promptly moved off into the kitchen, putting the scissors back in their drawer as he passed by the counter before reaching behind to pull his shirt off over his head. Stormkrigeren, who had been dutifully following him, paused at the sight of him undressing and briefly considered leaving the small room to give him some privacy - which Dr. Schreyer said was the polite thing to do - when Lex caught her watching and winked playfully.

“C’mon, Darcie, no one swims with their clothes on!” he teased, beckoning for her to follow. That made sense - loose clothes would have too much drag and slow a swimmer down, so it was probably a good idea to get rid of the extra weight. Stormkrigeren obeyed, following his example by taking off her shirt as she stepped into the bathroom, only to find Lex already in the shower stall stripped down to his boxers as he turned the water on.

A jolt of panic shot through her at the sight of him, stirring up uncomfortable memories of what had happened last time she had stupidly allowed him to drag her into that room. Her throat was still sore thinking about it even though Lex hadn’t touched her in months, but Stormkrigeren ventured the thought that this time might be different. He wasn’t forcing her into the bathroom with him, and he didn’t appear to have a gun on his person or hidden in his clothes on the floor. He had approached her with the idea, letting her accept it in her own time, and was offering to teach her a skill that would no doubt become essential, all without any coercion whatsoever. Maybe, just this once, it was safe - and even if it wasn’t, Stormkrigeren was sure she could defend herself.

“I know, I know - you already know some strokes off by heart,” he relented as she stepped into the shower stall beside him, “But believe me when I say that concentration is so much more difficult when you’re half-drowning and constantly getting splashed in the face.”

Lex laughed at his own joke and adjusted the shower temperature, playfully batting the stream in her direction. Stormkrigeren just barely stopped herself from flinching when the freezing water stung her skin, but quickly frowned at her own weakness to something as stupid as a cold shower and for almost letting it show in front of Lex.

“Sorry,” he apologized half-heartedly, watching as she wiped the water from her eyes and still chuckling as he stepped back to give her some room in the cramped space, “How about you show me your freestyle?”

Stormkrigeren complied, stepping beneath the stream and carefully making sure that she did not turn her back on him as she turned her face up into the falling water and held her arms over her head in the ‘streamline’ position, steadily performing the swimming stroke. Lex had been right - the sudden overstimulation on her face was a bit of a shock that she quickly had to get over before realizing the more serious discomfort of not being able to see all too well. She knew from a previous ‘swimming’ lesson with Mister Wilson that she could open her eyes perfectly fine underwater (this was found out while holding her breath with her face submerged in a bucket - though she assumed it couldn’t really by called ‘holding’ it when she didn’t seem to need to breathe at all)(the experience had prompted a number of various examinations from Dr. Anklow and Dr. Schreyer, and subsequently the uncomfortable discovery of Stormkrigeren’s additional nictitating membrane that appeared to be completely transparent). The constant deluge of droplets in the shower broke up the light too much for her to be able to see clearly - or perceive any oncoming attacks.

He shoved his body against hers, forcing her against the wall and quickly binding her wrists over her head, the rough plastic of a cable tie craftily hidden in the palm of his hand biting into her skin. An instant later, he had her ankles forced against the wall with his own, the weight preventing her from kicking out at him and effectively trapping her against the tile.

Stormkrigeren had immediately gone on defense the moment Lex had laid a hand on her, struggling to get her feet up or so much as trip him while he had her fists securely above her head, but it only took her a few moments to realize that it would be useless to fight back. He had the advantage of both height, weight, timing, and strength, while all she had was experience - she would have to wait until some other factor changed in her favor, yet for now, Stormkrigeren made herself a terrible captive and gnashed her teeth in his direction, reminding him that she could still bite.

“Ooh, you’re a fierce little Storm,” he smiled, the pressure on her ankles increasing as he leaned over her, “It’s all right, Darcie, I know you already know how to swim. Slade’s a great teacher and all, but he hasn’t taught you much about surviving torture yet, has he? Where would you be without that sort of knowledge?”

Stormkrigeren paused her struggling, eyeing him questioningly. True, Mister Wilson had told her that some methods of ‘safe’ torturing were great stamina builders, but had never gotten around to exposing her to them. Now Lex was offering her a much-needed - albeit dangerous - learning experience, one that she was already tentatively curious about. Her purpose was to survive and protect - and what better way to survive was than to understand all possible circumstances beforehand? She needed knowledge that he had - so she nodded to her teacher in relent.

“Okay! Lesson One in surviving waterboarding,” he smiled, his grip tightening slightly around her wrists held firmly over her head, “The quickest way to do this would be to simply throw you in the deep end, so let’s get started. You ready?”

Something in his manner caused her to hesitate - Stormkrigeren often struggled to read body language, especially Lex’s, but she understood enough to know that something about the way he moved was more off than usual - and he only confirmed her suspicions by pressing a Glock against her shoulder with his free hand.

She nearly swore aloud at her own stupidity. Stormkrigeren thought she had been diligent - checking both his clothes and himself for any sign of a weapon - but had idiotically forgotten to check her surroundings, including the shower caddy where he must have stashed the gun before she obediently followed him into the bathroom, walking right into his trap.

“I asked if you were ready,” Lex repeated neutrally, the ring of steel pressing against her bare skin and forcing her back against the slate-gray tile lining the shower stall, cold to the touch as her bare skin was shoved up against them. His hand that wasn’t threatening her with the gun was still wrapped around her wrists with too strong of a grip for her to effectively break, and even if she could, she was still bound by cable ties - but with the right leverage, she could grab the showerhead mere inches away. It would not be hard at all to pull herself up and land a solid kick against his chest, giving her time to escape from the confined space and out into her main Room - but she would still be locked in there with Lex and his gun.

He had planned this. He had planned to trap her, to make sure she was alone with him. He was smart and had planned the entire thing. He was smart, and she needed him to teach her, she needed to learn how to survive if something like this ever happened again. He hadn’t done anything to imply a repeat of past instances, of close, cold contact. He wasn’t there to hurt her - he was there to teach her. Stormkrigeren was a good student. She could get away from him for a moment, but only if she needed to. For now, she was ready to learn.

Lex chuckled softly, easily guessing the conclusion she had come to, and released his bruising grip on her wrists to stroke her exposed throat possessively, a subtle reminder of what would happen if she even considered resisting. 

“Are you going to be good?” he asked her in a low voice that sent a shiver of apprehension down her spine. But Stormkrigeren shut out the fear, shut out the weakness, and nodded silently.

A damp washcloth was laid over her face, blinding her, and she could feel him tracing her features through the wet fabric as she fought to remain calm and keep her breathing steady. Something hit the back of her knees with enough force to throw her to the ground and she nearly whimpered in pain when he grabbed her hair to force her head back. This was a bad position, she was too exposed, she couldn’t get up, she couldn’t fight like this-

The shock of the water suddenly hitting her face caused her to gasp inadvertently and she nearly choked as it entered her lungs. With the washcloth clinging to her skin and covering her mouth and nose, she had no way to breathe without inhaling more water than air as she gasped for breath, but to no avail. Lungs burning, she swore she was slowly drowning as the deluge continued and the gun was shoved into her side, threatening much more than pain if she dared make a sound. Panic rose in her chest with every moment that passed, drowning, drowning, silently screaming - until after an eternity, the water was shut off.

The cloth was removed, allowing her to gasp in the fresh air as he grinned down at her, watching with apparent amusement as she fought to take a few deep breaths. Deciding her brief respite was up, he tossed the cloth back on her face and forced her back under the stream of water. She could not see anything but the solid white color of the fabric and a slightly brighter area which must have been the overhead light - but it could just have easily been her passing out. There was nothing she could do except gasp for the precious little air she received and silently scream to be free of his abominations before he would finally let her up for a single breath and the cycle would continue.

She had no idea how long he kept her there, trapped on the verge of consciousness yet never allowing her to slip under, always in pain, always afraid. There was something about pain that shut out all feeling, limiting her world to nothing but fear and drowning and his hands grasping at her chest as he forced himself upon her, her silent screams unanswered. At one point she managed to rid herself of the blindfold long enough to glare up at him, fire burning in her eyes as she dared him, dared him to hold her down and to hurt her again. He only smiled, and violently shoved her skull against the tile. The bright overhead lights seemed to flicker as she clung to consciousness by a mere thread, dimly aware that Lex had finally let her go and was stroking her bruised cheek as he crooned softly.

“It’s all over, Dee-Dee,” he whispered, “I’m going to make it all better now. All you have to do… is pay up.”

A fresh wave of panic washed over her at the words, and she struggled against his tight grip on her wrists, holding her down against the freezing cold tile. She managed to wrench herself free for the briefest of moments, trembling from the effort as she fought to open the stall door only to feel his hand on her head, pushing hard.

He caught her off balance. If her knees had been a little more bent, her stance a little more stable, or the shower a little less wet, she would have been fine. But somehow he managed to push her just a little too far and once again managed to force her against the wall, her head hitting the grey tile with a resounding crack.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

The bright overhead lights seemed to flicker in and out at a quick pace, ignorant of the headache they were causing her, or maybe it was an old headache simply returning with consciousness. Either way, it still hurt, and the rest of her didn’t feel much better. Something tight was wrapped over her forehead - a bandage by the feel of it, squeezing uncomfortably. Why the hell she would need a bandage, she had no idea-

She sensed movement off to her left and instinctually tensed, clenching her fists and minutely bending her knees so that she could get up quickly if she had to defend herself. Stormkrigeren listened hard, trying to estimate how many potential attackers were nearby and how close they might be. Taking the risk, she cracked open one eyelid to try to catch a glimpse of them, but was met by the sight of a lone Mister Wilson sitting on the ground nearby, eyeing her over the top of a hardcover book.

“About time,” he muttered, setting the novel aside, “How’s the head?”

Stormkrigeren carefully pushed herself up into a sitting position, her vision swimming from the movement. A wave of vertigo hit her, unsettling her stomach and causing her skull to throb painfully as she scrunched her eyes closed to shut out the spinning world, swearing softly under her breath, “Fuck.”

“Yeah, skull fractures aren’t pretty,” Mister Wilson agreed, “Though I’ve rarely had trouble with them, so don’t think I’m letting you off the hook for a damn bruise.”

She shook her head in acknowledgment, and immediately regretted it as her stomach twisted in complaint, her head still throbbing with no sign of stopping soon.

“What you’re feeling is twelve-thousand milligrams of acetaminophen - four times the maximum adult dosage because that’s how much you needed before your brain took to the stuff,” her teacher explained, “You like it?”

“No, sir,” she managed to get out, her tongue feeling cottony and dry against the roof of her mouth.

“Good. The stuff’s shit - this is always better.”

She felt something light hit her blanket and looked down to see a slab of milk chocolate. Stormkrigeren gingerly picked it up to examine the label and realized it wasn’t just any regular chocolate - it was the nice kind, with cookie pieces scattered throughout the bar, and it was a decent size too. Mister Wilson hated milk chocolate with a passion - something about how it was too gooey and hard to get out of one’s mouth - so he only ate the really dark stuff when he felt like it. There was no real reason for him to have gone to all the effort for something he didn’t even like, unless… he’d gotten it for her.

“I saw the security feeds,” he mentioned off-handedly, ignoring the thankful look she gave him as he glanced up at the climbing grips on the nearby wall. Stormkrigeren flinched at the thought - Mister Wilson had seen what had happened, he had seen her stupidly walk into an obvious trap, he had seen her make an idiotic mistake that had cost far too much, he had seen her… succeed.

“You saw the jump?” she asked quietly, unsure if she was going to receive praise or a rebuke. Mister Wilson only nodded in reply, but to her relief, she could tell by the fact that he didn’t reprimand her for the stupid trick immediately that her teacher - albeit reluctantly - was impressed.

“Don’t get cocky - succeeding at something  _ once _ means jack shit,” he warned her, seeming to sense her conclusion as he crouched down beside her mattress. She nodded, watching as Mister Wilson slipped some plastic strips out of his back pocket and pressed them into her hand. Stormkrigeren looked down at the cable ties as he brought her fist up to eye level and gently folded her fingers closed around them, nodding once to see if she understood.

He wanted proof. Proof that her one-time success wasn’t just luck - it was skill. 

A hint of a smile crossed her face as she nodded back, ignoring the pain in her head as she stood up to let her teacher bind her wrists.


	19. Rule #15: Do not try to leave before it is time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good morning! Here is a chapter with a tiny bit of escape!!

All the doors in the Rooms were on tracks and could be controlled remotely, with the main exit and equipment room usually being locked while the kitchen door was only locked while she slept, so Stormkrigeren did find it a little unusual when it hissed shut behind her while she was washing the dishes.

She paused, a sudsy plate still in her hand as she turned to stare at the door as it closed and she heard the soft click of it locking, but didn’t move to attempt escape. It wasn’t exactly a bad thing to be locked in the kitchen, and she still had access to her bathroom. The biggest inconvenience would be if she had to spend the night in there, probably on the hard concrete floor, but it wasn’t like she hadn’t slept without a mattress before.

Looking back, she could remember this wasn’t the first time she’d been locked in the back room for a few hours with no explanation. It could even be considered something to look forward to, as last time when the door had finally unlocked, Stormkrigeren had discovered that climbing handholds had been installed on one segment of the west wall. Those had been both entertaining and useful in her training with Mr. Wilson, and she silently hoped whatever was being added now would be as well.

Stormkrigeren spent the next hour cleaning the kitchenette inside and out, then sat listening at the door to her main Room for a short while, but she couldn’t hear much besides some drilling sounds and the occasional voices giving orders she couldn’t quite make out. Eventually, she got bored of trying to eavesdrop and decided to clean something else.

About halfway through scrubbing the already-spotless shower, her keen hearing again picked up the dull click of the kitchen door unlocking. She nearly jumped up to investigate immediately but forced herself to slow down and finish the job she’d set out to complete.

Only a few minutes passed before she walked out into the nearly renovated Room, the stark white walls and open space briefly overwhelming after the hours she had spent in the confined back Rooms. She pushed the distraction away and quickly checked for any traps or other occupants besides herself, but finding nothing she looked up to observe what had changed.

There were ceiling rings now, metal and dotting the roof at regular intervals. Her first thought was that they’d be for climbing, but they were neither wooden nor large enough for a comfortable grip, but she was still sure she could hold on to one if necessary.

Stormkrigeren decided they were probably for hanging ropes from and returned to the kitchen for a broom to sweep up the concrete dust left from the drilling. After that was finished, she practiced a few routines on her punching bag, releasing her energy after being pent up in the smaller Rooms. Combat had always been a refuge for her, a method of strategic physical movement that she could lose herself in. It was just her and the opponent with the same goal in mind, doing everything they could to see the other fall. She was swift and strong and light on her feet, striking in and out like lightning over the sea. Her opponent, on the other hand, was only a heavyweight punching bag, almost brand-new after she’d broken the old one, and part of her wished Mr. Wilson was there instead to give her a bit more of a challenge. He hadn’t been around for a few days, which wasn’t too surprising as it happened quite often, and it did wonders for her sleep, but it put her on edge not seeing one of the few people she ever had contact with.

After a while, she concluded her practice and went to get herself a drink before heading for the storage room. It was behind the southernmost door in the mirror wall and was rarely unlocked, and when it was, it only led to a small room where she would occasionally find training equipment or educational materials such as a treadmill or weights for her physical exercises, and a few times small engines for her to take apart and rebuild as part of her tuition in engineering. 

Luckily, today it was unlocked and she was able to carry out one of her more recent projects, a Honda XL700V Transalp engine that she was building essentially from scratch. She had all the pieces, it was just a matter of getting them all installed correctly, which was barely a challenge for her considering how last month she’d constructed an entire DM13-L4-T engine from parts, so this was a bit of a step-down. Lex had been ecstatic when she’d finished, going on a rant about how much he loved automobile mechanics and had been on the verge of trying to get ahold of a jet engine for her to ‘play’ with, but Stormkrigeren had politely requested to experiment with something a little smaller first. Thus the half-built Transalp engine on her desk.

She was nearly finished with the oil filter when the overhead lights suddenly flickered and went out with a dull fluorescent thud, leaving her in complete darkness. This was a normal experience and Stormkrigeren only exhaled in resignation as she set down her tools before making her way to the bathroom. The lights still worked long enough for her to complete her toilet before flickering out while she headed for her mattress. It was no use trying to do much in the dark, wasting her precious downtime, but even laying in her bed she didn’t allow herself to go to sleep quite yet.

She considered the hanging rings on the ceiling and their possible uses, most likely strength training and maybe climbing. An idea occurred to her, a dangerous and impulsive one, but it made escape a possibility.

She didn’t loathe the Rooms, but they weren’t easy to like either. Growing up here had made them her home, and despite the hostility she was faced with every moment, there was still a level of comfort in the familiar. Yet for years now, Stormkrigeren had longed for the outside world, a place where Lex wasn’t watching her every move and deadly assassins were less likely to trace her. She had barely any idea of what lay beyond the steel door and Watching Room, and even less knowledge of how she would survive out there. Nowhere to go, no friends, no acquaintances, only enemies. Lex had her trapped in more ways than between concrete walls. Her only hope of survival were her skills and the small savings account she’d built up over the years by working online. She’d get by. She’d have to. But first, she’d have to escape.

Mr. Wilson came that night, as she had expected, entering the Room almost an hour after the lights had turned off. Stormkrigeren’s keen hearing picked up his tread about twelve meters away at her four o’clock. She pretended to be asleep, allowing her body to go partially limp as he approached, removing the katana from the scabbard on his back while he inched forward. She knew he would suspect something, but hopefully not till he was close enough to be within her range.

Her fingers tightened around the corner of her thin blanket, kicking it off to toss it over where she guessed his head was, blinding his night vision goggles. She knew she only had a few seconds before he tore it off, so Stormkrigeren wasted no time with hesitation as she groped for the hatchet she knew he kept in the back of his utility belt. Mr. Wilson swore as he stumbled, and she took advantage of the movement to jump onto his back moments before he finally managed to rip off her improvised net and stand up. She bent her knees allowing his momentum to transfer to her as she launched herself upwards. For a brief moment she was flying, and then Stormkrigeren remembered she couldn’t see the ceiling ring she was aiming for in the darkness. Luck was with her as her fingers brushed against the metal and she managed to cling on - but not without suppressing a low grunt of pain as her shoulder was very nearly yanked out of its socket.

She’d memorized the positions of all the rings before the lights had gone out, and knowing from what direction Mr. Wilson had entered, she managed to navigate her swing to the next ring. It was a near miss, her calloused hand almost slipping on the smooth steel and shoulders straining to hold her weight in such a position, but she managed another two jumps until her bare feet hit glass instead of thin air. An alarm went off somewhere in the Watching Room, but she ignored it as she shattered the two-way mirror with the hatchet and hacked at the plexiglass beneath.

Mr. Wilson was shouting something below her as the lights came on suddenly, momentarily blinding her, but she did not lose her grip on the ring as she repeatedly smashed her weapon against the window. It wasn’t doing as much as she’d hoped, only leaving deep gashes she struggled to pull the ax out of, not breaking through the thick barrier. She was still trapped. But she wasn’t going to stop.

“Storm!” Mr. Wilson was bellowing furiously, “Down! Now!”

Stormkrigeren grimaced and shut him out, continuing her hopeless attempts to break through.

A throwing knife embedded itself in her side, narrowly missing her left hip, and she almost flinched, the pain causing her to pause her assault for only a moment before pressing on. Mr. Wilson was still shouting as she tried to drown out his voice with the rhythmic thwack of the hatchet, but one sentence demanded her attention.

“If you don’t come down right now, the next one will be your shoulder,” he threatened. They both knew what that meant. She had long ago decided she didn’t care if she died, but living and being unable to fight would be unbearable. A bullet or knife to a joint would put her down for weeks, possibly months, and it would never heal completely. She’d never be able to fight to her fullest.

It was with great reluctance that she let go of her weapon and released her hold on the ceiling ring to drop to the ground. She rolled to soften the impact, unsurprised to find herself immediately trapped in a headlock. Stormkrigeren remained silent as he shoved her up against the mirrored wall, the tip of another throwing knife pressed against her shoulder.

“Bloody idiot,” he muttered, and she frowned, suddenly noticing the eyepatch covering his right eye, but still said nothing.

“You’re going to need stitches,” Mr. Wilson muttered again before raising his voice, “Schreyer! Medkit!”

He didn’t wait to see if the doctor had heard him up in the Watching Room, reaching down to grab the blade in her side and sharply pull it out.

Stormkrigeren barely stopped herself from flinching at the agony, earning a cuff to the back of her head which she dutifully ignored. Forced against the mirrored wall, she could feel the hot stickiness of blood seeping from her side, but didn’t try to stem the flow, watching Mr. Wilson’s reflection instead.

He still glared just as hard as normal despite lacking his right eye, but she could tell by the slight unsteadiness in his movements that the loss was recent and he was still getting used to being half-blind. That gave her an advantage, one she could use to trip him and give her wild gamble on escape a second chance. But considering it again, the odds were not in her favor. Being half-blind hadn’t done too much to his aim and it would be hard to miss when the knife was already pressed against her skin.

The steel door leading to the Outside hissed open to reveal Dr. Schreyer behind it, seeming more than a little put-off as she stepped towards them to examine the patient. She looked for all the world like she’d have enjoyed giving Mr. Wilson a harsh dressing-down for injuring the Project  _ yet again _ , but refrained and got to work examining the wound.

Stormkrigeren obediently held still as the Doctor peeled back her shirt to get a look at the cut, probing the skin around it with a gentle touch before the older woman grimaced.

“I think it only skimmed a rib, so no broken bones, thank goodness, but there is still the possibility of internal bleeding and injury to her lower abdominals,” she said smoothly, her words pointed at Mr. Wilson, “I imagine Mr. Luthor won’t be thrilled by the news.”

He only grunted in response to the subtle jab, “Just stitch her up.”

Dr. Schreyer opened the large first-aid kid she’d brought with her, silently locating a syringe of local anesthetic and was about to inject it into the patient’s side when Mr. Wilson shook his head.

“No painkillers,” he growled, before turning to Stormkrigeren, “Try not to flinch.”

She inclined her head in a small nod, directing her gaze to a smudge on the mirror instead of watching Dr. Schreyer thread the sharp curved needle. The wound was cleaned and stitched back together in a matter of minutes, but she barely noticed the additional pain of the needle in her skin, she was focusing so hard on the reflection’s imperfection. Only when Schreyer began packing up the first-aid kit did Stormkrigeren realize the operation was over, but Mr. Wilson still kept her pinned to the wall until the older woman had left.

His grip around her throat slackened as the steel door hissed shut, and Stormkrigeren patiently waited till he had fully released her before pulling up her shirt to look at her bandaged side.

“You didn’t flinch,” Mr. Wilson stated, wiping her blood from his knife. She nodded and massaged the back of her neck, waiting for the reprimand to counteract his praise. He was taking far longer than necessary to clean the blade, and she was about to point it out when he finished and slipped it into his belt. “Stormkrigeren.”

“Yes, Teacher?”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, glaring at her with his one good eye, “I’m supposed to tell you to never pull that sort of shit again. But I think it’d be better if I told you that what you did was effing stupid.”

Stormkrigeren only nodded, not raising her eyes to meet his gaze. He didn’t try to push the subject further and picked up his hatchet from where she’d dropped it among the shards of mirrored glass before leaving without another word. She was alone - and still trapped.

But Mr. Wilson hadn’t told her not to do it again.

He’d told her she’d done it wrong.

He’d told her to try again.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

“I’m just wondering why you would even try to get out,” he said, blowing on his coffee before taking a sip, “I mean, it’s not exactly a place you can simply escape from.”

The veiled threat wasn’t lost on her. She wanted to hit him, she wanted to hit him so bad, but she dutifully kept her fists clenched around her mug instead of his throat.

“Why are they built this way? Why am I not allowed out?” she asked. Lex raised his free hand as if in surrender as he shook his head.

“Pop built them, not me,” he pointed out, “If I’d built them, there’d have been another room with a basketball court and a coffee bar.”

The joke fell on deaf ears as Stormkrigeren frowned, “That answers none of my questions.”

Lex sighed in resignation, swirling the coffee in the bottom of his mug for a few moments longer before deciding he’d stalled long enough and met her accusing gaze.

“Look, Dee-Dee, you don’t want out. Believe me, you really don’t. Here you’re provided for, you’re protected, and you get to learn just about anything you want all at my expense. Out there you’re on your own.”

She cringed a little at the reminder that she was surviving off of him, the idea of permanently owing him a reality she tried to ignore. She was a burden, and he kept her, but she didn’t want to wonder why.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, and Lex smiled consolingly.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about a thing, it’s all planned and taken care of. If all goes well and you play the Game, I might be able to arrange some time Outside for you in a few years. That’d be fun, eh?”

Stormkrigeren nodded silently and poured the rest of her coffee in the sink as he continued, “The world is a chaotic place, Darcie. One can never be sure what sort of people you’re going to encounter, whether they’ll be for or against you. We both know you have basically no experience in the Outside world. You’re a fierce fighter, but you’d barely survive a day. Trust me, Dee-Dee, it wouldn’t be pretty. You’re so strong and special and different, and poor old humanity is so fickle, you’d be rejected almost immediately. An outcast and a freak.”

She struggled not to show it, but his words had struck home. He was right, she had no experience of anything outside her Rooms, and the entire reason she was here in the first place was because she was so different.

“All I want for you is to be safe,” Lex said softly, his tone reminding her of the little boy with the russet curls who had been the only other child she’d ever known. Not much had changed, he was still the brains and she was the brawn, kids both hurt by a man with big fists, but now the entire world was that man. Somewhere along the way those kids had turned on each other, but remained united against a common enemy.

She almost felt guilty for always thinking badly of Lex, who despite all the hateful glares she was forever throwing him still provided for her with a patient smile. Then she remembered another child, a girl with dark locks and barely old enough to bleed, yet she already had her innocence stolen from her.

Lex ignored the fire in her gaze as he washed his mug in the kitchenette sink, humming and smiling to himself while looking for all the world like he’d never hurt a fly.

He turned the water off and put the cup in the drying rack, wiping his hands on a towel as he turned to check the watch on his wrist.

“They should be finishing up pretty soon,” he said to no one in particular before glancing up at her. Stormkrigeren could feel his gaze lingering on the bandage beneath her shirt and she tensed instinctively as he moved to touch her injury.

“You did this, Darcie,” he murmured, gently stroking her side through the shirt, “You’re the one who made this ugly. I can fix it, and I will, but I’ll need something in return.”

He said it so calmly, belying the true meaning of his words. She would have to pay the debt, to pay for her mistake, she had no choice. Lex Luthor as good as owned her.

He stepped back and smiled at her pityingly, giving her a mock salute as he stepped towards the door, “Duty calls, Dee-Dee. Keep up the good work!”

Someone in the Watching Room opened the door right on cue and her tormentor slipped out to pull it shut behind him. Stormkrigeren made no effort to even try to follow him, and she wondered if that proved just how much he had already broken her around his little finger. It didn’t matter. From that moment on she swore to never take orders from him again.


	20. Rule #16: Do not look yourself in the eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! This is the chapter where it all starts to come together!

When Stormkrigeren was four years old, Herr Luthor had sat her down and carefully explained to her that everyone had a purpose in life. He said that most people never found out what it was, so they never lived their lives to the fullest or contributed their due to the smooth running of the universe. Luckily, Herr Luthor had figured out what her purpose was very early on in Stormkrigeren’s short life and did everything he could to prepare her to fulfill it.

She was to be  _ a protector _ . She was to be sent out into the world to protect whatever and whoever needed her guard and her watch. She was to do everything in her power to protect anything under her care - even if it meant killing the threat.

Stormkrigeren asked how she would know what she was supposed to be protecting. Herr Luthor told her not to mind about that because he would be sure to let her know when the time came.

Every protector needed certain skills in order to fulfill their purpose as best as they could. That’s what the training was for. That was why Dr. Schreyer and all the other caretakers had been hired to teach her, and that was why she had been taught so much at such a young age. That was why they were preparing her as early as they could. That was why the Rooms had been constructed so that she could have a safe environment to learn in - that was why there were mirrors on the wall.

“Do not forget, Stormkrigeren,” Herr Luthor said in a low voice, pointing to the eastern wall of her Room, “that the mirrors on that wall are a reminder, a  _ temptation _ you must resist so that you can grow stronger. They will never reflect what you are inside, but they can help you see what you are now. You must  _ never _ look at them - you must  _ never _ get close enough so that you can look yourself in the eye.”

“Why not?” Stormkrigeren asked curiously, secretly hoping he would not hit her for speaking without permission. Herr Luthor only shook his head and glared at the mirrors as if they were living, malevolent creatures and not reflective panes of glass.

“Because,” he answered, “You might not like what you see.”

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Mister Wilson had arrived two weeks later, and Stormkrigeren was introduced to the man who would later be recognized as one of the deadliest assassins alive - and as her teacher. A contract was written up and an agreement signed, promising Mister Wilson a solid chunk of cash each month, and Herr Luthor a Project trained in the art of warfare.

Her Teacher often insisted that he did not  _ teach _ \- he  _ developed _ her, rather. His ‘lessons’ were designed to turn a small, untrained girl into something that could fully fulfill her purpose, and somehow that involved an awful lot of fighting.

They started off with simple things: punching, kicking, biting, stabbing - anything to defend herself and give her a very basic understanding of combat and its purpose. Fighting had to become natural to her if the little girl was to survive more than a year under his tuition, so her Teacher began teaching her how to do so from the start. It took some time, but once he had drilled at least a decent amount of self-defense and preservation into Stormkrigeren’s little head, Mister Wilson moved on to more refined methods of study that did not include using one’s fists.

Survival required much more than being able to throw a decent punch - one also needed to be precise and attentive and good with their hands. These things could be taught through a variety of simple tasks, such as rock-climbing, writing, cooking, metalworking, and many more small, useful skills and trades. Stormkrigeren studied whatever her Teacher deemed necessary, and she did it all with a will to learn and improve.

As time went on and her capacity improved, more difficult tasks and lessons added to her experience. Mister Wilson taught her more dangerous skills, such as marksmanship and bladesmithing. Specialized lessons simply known as ‘hunts’ eerie organized to help improve Stormkrigeren’s tracking and evasion abilities. There was even a period of time where Teacher and student focused entirely on building up an immunity to a variety of poisons. Through all of this, Stormkrigeren knew that she was being slowly built up to the most important lesson of all - how to fight, and how to survive.

And when the day finally came to begin, she was more than ready to try.

Using his preferred method of teaching, Stormkrigeren studied nearly one-hundred-and-thirty forms of combat under her Teacher. Every lesson consisted of nothing more than a fight, and it was by fighting that she learned how to survive. Doing the movements over and over again, thinking on her feet and reacting to the blows as they were thrown was the most surefire way to ensure that she remembered. It was essential not to be afraid in the middle of a battle or a spar - fear, as Mister Wilson often told her, was a tiger snapping at your heels. It kept you on the run and it kept you moving, which was good, but if you ran too fast from it, you could easily trip and fall. So Stormkrigeren did not allow herself to be afraid of her Teacher’s swinging blade or bloodied fist, and carried on with the fight.

It only took her a few years to realize that Mister Wilson was, if anything, both a killer and a kind man with a head full of proverbs and ethos. Which was more than a little odd for someone whose vocation was killing murderers in cold blood.

He was very different from Herr Luthor, who believed that purpose was an objective to be fulfilled no matter the cost. Mister Wilson, on the other hand, took the stance that while purpose was something to be upheld above all others, there was still a proper way to go about fulfilling it that didn’t involve ‘mindlessly hitting the mark’ as Herr Luthor suggested. Even war had a sort of procedure, an unspoken list of rules and guidelines - it was only logical that while learning how to kill, Stormkrigeren would also learn how to follow said rules.

‘Perseverance’ was one of the first that she learned, not to mention the most called upon. Anything was possible if one put their head down and kept at it, as long as they did not allow themselves to even consider the possibility of failure. Stormkrigeren had been raised to thrive in adversity, and thrive she did. Mister Wilson expected perseverance from his student every step of the way because perseverance was the only path to success.

Perseverance was closely related to ‘Discipline’, which could simply be defined as a code of behavior designed to help one stay completely focused in every situation. Discipline was setting oneself apart, keeping their attention on both the small details and the bigger picture instead of allowing themselves to be distracted by trivial things. Discipline was the precursor to efficiency and effectiveness, and discipline was the necessary action. If the situation called for it, discipline was what allowed Stormkrigeren to execute a task with swift, violent precision - discipline was the step forward and never the step back.

‘Loyalty’ and ‘Submission’ were two rules that were closely intertwined as the obedience of one led to the carrying out of the other. Loyalty was the act of staying true to something or someone - Stormkrigeren was to be loyal not only to whoever gave the orders that she carried out, but to her duty as well, even to the point of death. If one could not trust themselves to have good loyalties to others, they could not trust themselves with much else. And from Loyalty stemmed Submission, the crucial skill of letting go of one’s own preferences to let someone else take the lead. No matter how hard Stormkrigeren worked, no matter how hard she trained, there would always be someone smarter or better suited to take charge - they should be the one to give the orders, and Stormkrigeren’s duty was to obey, even if she did not quite understand the reasoning behind their commands.

‘Innovation’ was yet another essential lesson that Mister Wilson took the time to teach. The ability to think creatively and take control of the situation could be the difference between living and dying. Innovation was the result and combination of three indispensable traits: tactical proficiency, technical skill, and finally, extreme attention to detail. Stormkrigeren strived to achieve all of these in her training, and would not allow herself to stop until she had mastered each and every one.

‘Honor’ was, if anything, more of a virtue than an ability. Honor was simply taking responsibility for one’s actions regardless of the circumstances or punishment - Mister Wilson even defined it as ‘uncompromising integrity’. To be honorable was to be trustworthy, to be upstanding, to understand the crucial difference between right and wrong, good and evil. Honor was knowing when to take a life - and when to spare one. Honor was living and fighting not only for one’s own protection, but for the protection of those around you.

‘Pain’ and the experience of it was a lesson in itself. It hurt sometimes -  _ fuck _ , how it could hurt - but it was always a comforting sort of burning hurt. It was evidence that she had succeeded at something, whether that was a hard-fought spar with Mister Wilson or even Lex’s fist on her cheek teaching her to be better, the hurt always meant that she had done something right, done something well. And no matter how much it hurt, Stormkrigeren was always sure of that because if there was one thing in the world that would always be true, it was that there was no pain without any gain. So she let it hurt, and she welcomed the pain.

And finally, one of the most important lessons that Mister Wilson taught her was the one of ‘Failure Never Being An Option’. Even the slightest possibility of failure was completely unacceptable in any way, shape, or form - but that was not to say that it was never considered. Failure was to be measured, accounted, and adjusted for in order that the task would proceed as planned. Even in battle, failure to not only get back up but retaliate to the felling blow was seen as worse than death itself. Stormkrigeren was never out of the fight - and when she fought, she fought to win.

The rules were made to prepare her, to shape and mold her like clay so that she could become a cog in the machine of the world. The rules would form Stormkrigeren into the protector she was meant to be - someone who could mitigate risks against both known threats and threats that were still unknown, someone who could bring swift and complete justice on anything or anyone that made themselves an enemy of the world.

Justice, as Mister Wilson told her, was a force of nature. Oddly enough, so was she.

“The only justice in this world,” he explained, “is that which we make for ourselves - and even then, it rarely goes to those who deserve it.”

“How will I know who is deserving?” she asked, and Mister Wilson sighed in his tired, angry way.

“You won’t, Stormkrigeren, and I doubt you ever will. It’s best to let someone of authority decide for you, then at least the blood is on their head and not just your hands.”

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

“Do you know what today is?”

Of course, she knew - it was written on the calendar in her kitchen and also on the corner of her laptop screen where she could see it every morning when she began her studies. “It’s June twenty-second, two-thousand-eleven.”

Lex nodded, adjusting his blazer as he sat down on the floor a few feet away.

He had come to her Rooms for another one of his ‘visits’, which were quickly becoming more regular, though Stormkrigeren still maintained a healthy wariness of him. But she knew better than to try to move away whenever he moved closer, so she sat very still and obedient and answered all of his questions quickly and precisely from her spot on the smooth concrete, waiting for him to continue. Lex happily complied.

“Seventeen years ago today, Pop was doing a routine visit to one of his oil drills up in the Kjølen Mountains. Do you know where that is?”

“Norway.”

“That’s right,” he smiled, pressing his fingertips together as he continued, “It was on his way back to town that he found you. Half-dead, barely breathing, and not expected to live very long, but he took you in any way and nursed you back to health. Poured hundreds of manhours and millions of dollars into making sure you survived, and that’s all you’ve ever been - a survivor and an investment.

“That’s how Pop saw you - an investment. He’d put funding towards you in hopes that someday you’d help him rake in the big bucks. You were never more than a means to an end, and that end was profiting from a war where you were in the line of fire.

“To me, you’ve always been something more than an investment, Darcie. And deep down, you know it too. You are something better - something  _ more _ than humanity could ever hope to be. You are, as Pop so eloquently put it, the ultimate  _ protector _ . Do you know what that means?”

The question caught her off guard. Stormkrigeren had never really thought about what it meant to be a protector beyond that it meant she had to follow orders, but she got the sense that that was not the answer Lex wanted. She fidgeted nervously, thinking hard to come up with a satisfactory answer.

“It means..,” she began slowly, “It means that my priority is never myself, but… but the person in front of me. It means that I must put the survival of all else above my own.”

He laughed.

He actually laughed at that - at her.

Lex shook his head pityingly, chuckling to himself. “Oh, Dee-Dee, you’re so simple-minded sometimes - you’ve got to think bigger, or you’re never going to get anywhere. What does it  _ really _ mean?”

What did it really mean? It must have something to do with the years of training she had gone through, preparing her for the role that she would someday undertake. She was trained to analyze and to hunt down and to follow and to incapacitate, and in some small way she didn’t fully understand yet, Stormkrigeren was trained to remove any and all threats from existence. Simply put, she was trained to hunt down and  _ kill _ the moment the order was given.

“Every action I take,” Stormkrigeren answered, straightening up to meet Lex’s gaze, “no matter how… how  _ violent _ or  _ cruel _ it may seem, I do it for the greater good of my people. I do it to fulfill my purpose.”

“And who might your people be?” Lex asked with a sly smile, absently twirling a finger in the air.

“Whoever gives the orders.”

That’s what Mister Wilson would have said, but Lex was looking for a different answer.

“It’s  _ me _ , Darcie. Your people are whoever care about you, and I care about you very much. You will never understand how much I care about you and how much I want you to be able to fulfill the purpose you were born for, and I will do  _ everything _ in my power to make sure that you become what you were always meant to be,” he promised passionately, his voice lowering with each excited word until he finally asked in a hoarse whisper, “It’s time to start fulfilling that purpose. Are you ready, Darcie?”

Yes.

Yes, she was ready.

It was time to take her place, to become what she was always meant to be.

She nodded.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Plans were drawn up and contacts were made, though Stormkrigeren was told virtually nothing of the preparations for her release. Everything she knew was learned in scraps from an unusually reticent Mister Wilson, but she did learn that she would be working for someone simply known as Mother.

Mother, Mister Wilson explained, was something of a global background force. Her children were everywhere, dispersed throughout society and government to gently influence decisions in Mother’s favor, and thus improve the world. Mother’s kind hand was far-reaching and involved in nearly every sort of organization worth investing in, so her wide network of influence was the perfect place for Stormkrigeren to begin fulfilling her purpose.

That made sense - what better place to start than one where the world was at your fingertips?

Mister Wilson dutifully kept her updated and explained the next step of her release whenever he came for lessons. From his gruff details, Stormkrigeren managed to gather that immediately following her twentieth birthday, Mother would send someone to fetch her. Under Mother’s care, she would spend another year or two training with a man named Orphan - a fellow mercenary and rival of Mister Wilson. Stormkrigeren might have refused the prospect immediately and demand that Lex let her finish her training with Mister Wilson if not for the fact that Orphan could teach her one thing that her Teacher couldn’t: how to live in the Outside.

Training with Orphan would last at least a year, and possibly longer - each day would be packed with lessons and missions and tasks all occurring Outside in the environment that would become her new Rooms. Said lessons could range anywhere from traversing rough outdoor terrain to even what was simply known as ‘removing targets’. And Stormkrigeren got the sense that the phrase wasn’t referring to shooting at bullet traps. 

When the year or so of initial training was over and it was decided that the Project was decently acclimated to the Outside in both health and ability, the real work would begin. With Lex and Mother to guide her, Project Stormkrigeren would finally take her first step towards fulfilling her purpose. There would be no Rooms, no white walls, no black mirrors, and no doors - just her and the Outside. At least, as long as she obeyed.

That was the issue with being released from her Rooms and into the Outside: while there were so many more chances for her to be free from Lex’s grasp, there were also many more chances for him to tighten it. And as Stormkrigeren was already well aware of, a hand at one’s throat is a dangerous weapon if that hand becomes a fist. Her relative and restricted freedom would rest entirely on her obedience to the ones who gave the orders. But luckily she had always been pretty good at doing what she was told.

When her year of training was complete and she moved on to near autonomy in her actions, Stormkrigeren would no longer be a student but a deployable asset - something that could be informed of an issue or task that needed doing, and be sent out to take care of it to the best of her abilities, even if that involved some dangerous means. And every task or mission or deployment she completed would be another step closer to fulfilling her purpose.

Her purpose was to  _ protect _ , and that would involve killing.

She was going to… she was going to  _ kill _ people (bad people,  _ dangerous _ people, she told herself time and time again).

Stormkrigeren might have shuddered at the thought, might have shown weakness because of it, if it hadn’t been so familiar to her. Nearly her entire life she had trained to do this - she had done the work, done the training, gone through all the motions, and mastered her art nearly as well as Mister Wilson mastered his. What was taking a life but just another lesson that would help her fulfill her purpose?

Death was death, and death was normal - an essential part of life, even. All killing did was hurry it along.

And she needn’t worry - Lex had promised (and even if he hurt her, at least he kept his word). It was all just a war, just a game. It was all just a game…

...and she’d be damned if she didn’t win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo... oddly enough, this was actually the last chapter I wrote before the final publication of this fic. I really don't write anything in order.


	21. Rule #17: Win the Game at any cost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! A very quick warning that there are some explicit deaths in this chapter - nothing too bloody and it's well within the rating for this fic, but I'm just letting y'all know.

Mister Wilson, admittedly, had done this before.

He wasn’t put off by the idea at all - he’d spent too much time covered in the blood of others to be frightened by death. But as he had been repeatedly telling the Luthors, despite the years of training Stormkrigeren had under her belt, she still had never taken a life. The only person she had ever had a chance to destroy in combat was Mister Wilson himself, and that would never happen, meaning that she had yet to take her first blood. It was a big step for any would-be assassin, with many failing to make the leap, but Mister Wilson had confidence in his student and considered it fit that she would make her first kill in her eighteenth year. She would pass the test and - though he hated the thought of it - continue in Luthor’s Game.

He glared at the line of men standing against the wall opposite him, all strong and knowledgeable in the art of the kill, but most had angered their leader in some way, making them no longer useful to the League of Assassins’ army of devotees, and so they had been sold. Despite their ritualistic tendencies, Mister Wilson preferred the way the League trained their warriors compared to some of the other schools of the art, and the poor souls before him would do fine for the lesson he had in mind today.

He pointed at one of the men, who obediently stepped forward and lowered his eyes. They all knew who he was and knew it would be best not to anger him. 

Mister Wilson put a black sack over the devotee’s head and tied his hands before taking the man by the back of his neck, leading him to a steel door that opened at their approach. They stepped into the large, white room, and Mr. Wilson immediately spotted his student nearby, standing to attention at his arrival. She nodded in greeting, and he returned the gesture, noting the sweat on her brow along with the small forge and anvil standing nearby.

“How did it go?” he asked casually, unable to keep the usual growl out of his voice. Stormkrigeren was used to his rough ways and did not flinch.

“The first blade did not temper quite as well as I had hoped,” she answered without emotion, “But the second one cooled nicely and I managed to test it before handing it over to Dr. Schreyer.”

“What style did you go with?”

“Kukri. Fifty-one-sixty steel with a paracord handle,” was the reply, her gaze turned on Mr. Wilson’s prisoner with an inquisitive look. Of course, she would be curious - this was likely the first stranger she had seen in years, and the sack hiding the man’s features would only sharpen her interest.

“Concentrate, Stormkrigeren,” her Teacher barked, and she ducked her head in apology.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Wilson shoved the devotee to his knees and removed the hood, the man muttering something like a prayer under his breath when he saw the pair standing over him. The silver-haired man was known by all as a killer, easily angered and swift with his blades, but the young woman with piercing blue eyes was unknown to the prisoner - though she must be deadly as well to associate so comfortably with Deathstroke the Terminator.

“There’s been a change of plans. We’re not going to do practice drills today,” Mr. Wilson stated, ignoring the devotee’s utterances as he casually removing a karambit from the sheath on his belt and scraped his thumb against the sharpened edge, “We’re going to be performing some tests instead.”

Stormkrigeren flinched away from the bloodied blade as it emerged from the man’s throat, his eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream, but he was already dead. And, she realized, she had failed the test.

Mr. Wilson nodded when he saw that she understood, yanking his knife out to kick the body aside before returning to the storage room for another victim.

The next man was allowed to remain standing as Mr. Wilson removed the hood, and Stormkrigeren was able to get a good look at his scarred face as he lowered his eyes in submission. She gave her Teacher another questioning glance, but Mr. Wilson simply shook his head and pressed a button on his wrist, causing gunfire to sound from hidden speakers around the Room. The devotee let out a frightened gasp at the sound, and it was only Mr. Wilson’s grip around the back of his neck that kept him from cowering on the floor, while Stormkrigeren reacted unflinchingly, simply stepping into an on-guard position. This was nothing new - she had learned to work under fire in her ninth year.

The death was as much of a shock as the first, sudden and violent as Mr. Wilson easily snapped the victim’s neck before confirming the kill with a slash at the man’s throat, but this time she did not flinch. Mr. Wilson made no comment, shoving the body so it fell in her direction, yet Stormkrigeren had no trouble in pushing the corpse off and glaring at her Teacher’s back as he went to fetch the next example. It had not taken her long to figure out what he was trying to do, because what was the point of training to kill if you never got the chance to use your skills? He was testing her metal to see if all those years of preparation had been in vain, or if she had become what they had groomed her to be. All she had to do now was pass the test.

Mr. Wilson opted for the third victim’s abdomen instead of his throat, extending the death to last a torturous minute as the man screamed in agony. Stormkrigeren watched in silence, not allowing herself to react to the show of blood and destruction, until Mr. Wilson thankfully decided they had both suffered long enough and quickly put the man out of his misery. The student let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding and steeled herself for the continuation of the test.

Something about the next victim seemed a little off to her, the way he hesitantly shuffled forward betraying the fact that he could not see even without the black hood over his head. She gave Mr. Wilson an inquisitive glance, wondering why such a weak opponent had been chosen.

“We never kill without good reason, Storm,” he explained, “If we decided to take the life of anyone we wanted to, we would be nothing more than mindless killers.”

“Then what is the reason for taking their lives?” she asked, indicating the bodies on the floor, and Mr. Wilson nodded in approval of the question.

“There are many reasons: Firstly, it will further your training. There is only so much you can learn about making war without making death as well. Secondly, it proves your strength of will and prepares you for the Outside. And lastly...”

He paused, and for the first time actually looked at the corpses of his casualties, his gaze wandering to the man trembling beside him and down to the karambit in his hand.

“These men are all murderers, having taken lives without a second thought,” Mr. Wilson replied firmly, “And the only way to stop them is to kill the killer.”

His words hung in the air for a long moment as he let his student consider what he had said before he summoned her over. Stormkrigeren stood at attention an arm's length away, carefully keeping one eye on his weapon in case he wielded it unexpectedly, until he held it out to her.

“What is the best way to take this murderer’s life?” he asked, grabbing her wrist to press the blade into her hand. She glanced from the bloodied karambit to her intended victim, taking in the man’s posture and possible vulnerabilities. It would be an easy kill, made even easier by the fact that he could not defend himself, and the fight in her blood was roaring to be let loose. There was no hesitation as she stepped forward to strike the victim’s forehead with her free palm, forcing the head back to expose the throat and allow her to sever the carotid artery in one fell slice. He died almost instantly, and worse, she felt him die. One moment his soul was there, vibrant and alive, and the next all that was left was his corpse.

In that moment Stormkrigeren realized that she held the power of life and death in her movements, and how simple it was to use it.

The reality of it was frightening. And exhilarating.

“Good,” Mr. Wilson congratulated her, moving the body aside, “Again.”

Another victim was brought out only for her to swiftly put an end to him under her Teacher’s hard gaze, and the grim test continued as more men fell at her blade. By the third one, her hand was slipping on the thin handle of the karambit, slick with the blood of her fatalities, but she did not falter and pressed on with determination. She was swift and strong and deadly, each kill silent and efficient, no movement was wasted and she was in complete control of each fatal slash of the shining blade. Stormkrigeren was aware that she was trembling, though she did not pause to wonder why, the hunter’s lust for blood keeping her focused on the task at hand. So focused, in fact, that it took her a moment to fully register Mr. Wilson’s voice telling her that was enough for today.

She looked up at him as he approached her, the usual frown on his face as he held out his hand for his karambit back. For the briefest of moments, the hunter was still killing and willing to use the chance to kill her Teacher too, but Stormkrigeren shook off the idea and surrendered the weapon. Mr. Wilson gave her one of his signature glares. “You hesitated.”

There was no use trying to hide it, and honesty had its advantages.

“I did,” she admitted, unashamed as she met his steely gaze. Mr. Wilson nodded as he wiped the blade off and put it back in his belt.

“Normally I would punish you for something like this, but I think in this instance it can be allowed. It means you’re becoming more independent,” he told her, crouching down to dip his thumb in a puddle of blood from one of the nearby corpses. He straightened and she didn’t flinch as he drew the warrior marks on her cheeks - the two pairs of lines traditional markings in the League of Assassins, signifying that the wearer was worthy of the title ‘dangerous’. She had passed the test.

Mr. Wilson stepped back, still frowning as he gave her another order, “Don’t forget what I told you.”

“I will not forget,” she promised.

“Say it.”

Stormkrigeren pulled herself up to her full height, her hands folded behind her back as she recited, “No weakness. No hesitation. And no mercy.”

“Good,” Mr. Wilson nodded sharply, concluding the lesson. She silently watched him turn and pick his way across the battlefield to the door before he glanced back at her. “I won’t be here for your night training, Storm.”

She inclined her head in acknowledgment as the door slid shut behind him with a low hiss, and for a long moment, she did not dare allow herself to breathe. She had passed his test.

Something had to be done about the corpses, and she decided to stack them near the door of the supply room so they could be removed later, hefting the nearest one onto her shoulder when realization washed over her. These were all sons, maybe husbands, or even fathers who would never get to return home, all dead by her hand. Some would call it a tragedy and a murder, but Stormkrigeren knew she had simply done the world a favor by lowering the number of killers out there murdering its children. They had deserved to die, but their deaths had not been in vain and paved the way to her becoming the warrior she was meant to be. She carefully set her load down and decided to leave the bodies where they had fallen for a little longer, if only to remind herself what every moment of her life had been training her to become.

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

Though she hated to admit it, her resolve had begun to waver after two hours and collapsed completely after five. Working while surrounded by fallen bodies was more than a little unnerving, and her hands were still shaking from the ordeal when she finally began cleaning up the destruction from the test.

Stormkrigeren didn’t have too much trouble moving the bodies back into the unlocked storage room, carrying them on her shoulders one-by-one to be stacked against the wall they had been lined up at only a few hours before. They had already begun to reek of death and the metallic taste of blood on her tongue was hard to ignore, but like always she managed to shut it out and carry on. The strong scent of bleach helped to get rid of the smell and the blood as she scrubbed the stains out of the concrete floor, taking the time to thoroughly clean up every drop until there were no traces left. It took a moment for her to realize just how hard she was gripping the scrub brush, her knuckles white as she scrubbed harder to drown out the voices in her head.

Stormkrigeren almost sighed in relief when the fluorescent lights finally went out to signal the end of her day, before she caught herself relaxing and quickly berated herself for the show of weakness. It didn’t take long to prepare for bed and within a few minutes, she was curled up on her mattress in the dark, settling in to get some real sleep since she knew Mr. WIlson would not be there to wake her up for night training. It should have been a comforting thought, the knowledge that she wouldn’t have to fight the losing battle that night, but somehow it only put her more on edge. Stormkrigeren massaged the back of her neck in an attempt to lose some of the tension pent up by her hypervigilance. It helped a little, but did nothing to ease her instinctual expectancy of an unprovoked attack.

“You’re paranoid,” she whispered to herself, flinching at her own voice. She was too nervous, which could cause her to lose concentration if it came to a fight. Breathing slowly, she rolled over onto her back and tried to relax into the mattress, practicing her mental clarity exercises as she listened to her breaths. Slow and even like a calm wind, unseen and methodical like footsteps in the dark. 

Stormkrigeren pricked up her ears at the sound, immediately recognizing the low hiss of the automatic door closing and the tread of someone stalking through her Room.

“That lying bastard,” she hissed under her breath, silently getting up to follow the intruder when she realized her mistake. Whoever was there was not Mr. Wilson, who despite his strong build moved with a natural quietness, while the unexpected visitor had a lighter shuffling step. Also, there was more than one.

It was another test.

One she would not fail.

Stormkrigeren tracked the intruder closest to her, waiting until he was near enough for her to incapacitate him with a sharp blow to the base of his skull. The man grunted as he collapsed, and she caught the body to quietly lower it to the floor, quickly locating the dagger in his hand which she used to slit her victim’s throat. She sensed another man moving closer, probably to investigate the noise, and he too fell at her blade. Someone shouted, and she knew she’d been discovered as the remaining footsteps quickened in pace as they ran to find her. One’s weapon swung dangerously close to her skull as she ducked beneath the blow and Stormkrigeren returned it by jabbing the man in the gut. His scream was cut off when she severed his trachea, but not before another assassin landed a slash across her back. She growled and turned on her heel to end the man’s life, removing him from existence before he could get another hit in.

By now, anyone who was in the Room would have heard the scuffle despite her efforts to remain silent, and her keen hearing picked up more pairs of footsteps closing in. The first raised his arm to bring his sword down on her, only for Stormkrigeren to sense the movement and grab his wrist to pull him sharply towards her, incapacitating him with a debilitating kick in the ribs. She felt the bones snap beneath her foot but did not pause to relish the feeling as she relieved him of his weapon and used it to remove his head. The handle of her blade was slick with blood as she ended them, one, two, four men falling at her hand, until the fifth presented more of a challenge.

A few of the would-be assassins had sense enough to recognize that she could hear them moving, so they stayed rooted to the spot until the Stormkrigeren roamed close enough for them to strike. But she was much more versed in the art of fighting blind and fully expected the hit, though she expected it a moment too late. The blade clipped the edge of her left shoulder, drawing blood before she could lunge out of the way, yet despite the pain, she wasted no time for hesitation and immediately killed the man with her sword through his heart. The body fell to the floor with a thud, and for a long moment there was only blissful silence broken by her ragged panting as she listened for any remaining killers, but there were none left except herself.

Lights came back on, and she blinked in the sudden brightness as she took in the gore around her, still running on adrenaline and ready to continue the test, yet no more victims appeared. Stormkrigeren glared up at the Watching Room, baring her teeth in a challenge to try her skills again, but the only reply she got was the crackling of hidden speakers coming to life before Lex’s voice echoed through the Room.

“Well done, my good and faithful Storm!” he praised her, “Let the Game continue!”


	22. The Outside - Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeeeeeeeeeeee

People are not meant to be trapped in white rooms. It does things to them. Stormkrigeren was pretty sure it made her insane because only an insane person would try to escape so close to being released.

It had been obvious from the start that she was meant to be in the Outside. She was meant to be a protector, and she could only protect her target well if she was Outside, not trapped in some damn laboratory. As she grew older, that fact became more and more obvious, though still the event of her release was rarely discussed. There had been a few times where Mister Wilson would occasionally mention plans for her to work with a mercenary team, and once even revealed that she was meant to complete assignments with them until it was finally decided she was ready to fly solo - albeit under Lex’s attentive eye.

“One of Mother’s covert action teams,” Mr. Wilson had answered casually when Stormkrigeren pressed him for answers. “Not the best in the business, but they get a little action from time to time. They’ll get you the experience you need, and some recognition to boot.”

“What if I do not want to work with them? And who is Mother?” she had questioned, and he’d raised an accusatory eyebrow at that.

“Mother is the woman who will as good as own you the moment you’re let out of here, simply because she is your best chance at fulfilling that purpose of yours Lex keeps going on about,“ he replied in a low voice, “And as for working with her, you’re a student of Deathstroke the Terminator. You should be honored Mother even considered accepting you - she doesn’t especially like me, though I can’t imagine why.” 

“But I’d rather continue working with you,” Stormkrigeren had frowned. Mister Wilson paused at that, giving her one of his signature glares that were virtually impossible to read, then he simply shrugged and picked up his blade to continue their training.

“It’s already been decided. Do not waste the opportunity, Storm.”

Deep down, she knew that Mister Wilson was in the right and the prospecting of completing both her training and her purpose in the Outside was thrilling. Out of her Rooms, Stormkrigeren could do what she was meant to do, and she could do it without the threat of white walls for the rest of her life. It was as her Teacher had always said - she existed in a state of ‘brightest silence’. Her world was made up of light and lack of sound, if only so that she could focus on the opposite of both those things, but deep down, Stormkrigeren knew better. Brightness and silence only occurred when one was alone, and nothing could be closer to the truth. She was alone in her Rooms, she was alone in her differences, she was alone in her abilities, and she was alone in every sense of the word except for the fact that Stormkrigeren, oddly enough, wasn’t lonely.

Being alone didn’t scare Stormkrigeren - she was good at being alone. But being forcefully kept that way did.

And maybe she would have been okay with that if only for one other problem: her world was changing. Everyone was talking about it, even if they never discussed it with her, but Stormkrigeren knew all the same. There was a big change coming soon - the change that would occur when she was finally let out of her Rooms.

Stormkrigeren liked to understand things, and that was so much simpler when everything was clear in black-and-white. Her name in black words on white paper, black eyes and white bandages, and black knives sharp against white walls. Those were all good things, if only because she could understand them. But the change… the change made her world so much more complicated - nothing was black-and-white anymore, but black-and-white-and-red-and-gray and so many other colors and things she couldn’t explain even to herself. Yet despite how much nothing made sense, Stormkrigeren still understood two things very clearly:

One, her existence and purpose were subject to the will of one man, and that man was Lex. Nothing happened or was given to her without his permission, and it was by his will that her life carried on as it did.

Two, stepping out of her Rooms into the wide world changed absolutely nothing - even surrounded by people, she would still be alone simply because that was how Lex wanted it.

If anything, she would be even more alone Outside.

The Outside was ruled by the laws of possession and power - who owned what and who was stronger. Both Mister Wilson and Lex were proof of that fact. And though Stormkrigeren may have been strong in the physical sense of the word, Lex… Lex had both power and possession over her. He cared for her, he provided for her, he ensured that she was trained and taught and well looked after, and he  _ owned _ her. She belonged to him alone, and alone with him, she would remain. Chained to him without hope of escape, without justice.

But the thing about justice was that it was only truly real if one made it for themself - and even then, it rarely went to those who deserved it.

Unless something changed. Unless Stormkrigeren forced it to be otherwise. Unless she broke the walls holding her back, holding her in, locking her in his grasp. Unless… there was no ‘brightest silence’.

And the only way to do that was to leave it behind altogether.

But Lex had been right all those times he had gently reminded her of the truth: the Rooms and their brightness and their silence were not exactly easy to escape.

But Lex had also made a mistake - he had forgotten what exactly his Project was and what she was capable of.

There was one way out of her Room: the main door. The Watching Room glass was nigh on impenetrable without the right tools, and the service doors in the kitchenette and storage room were sealed and double padlocked from the other side (Doctor Schreyer had told her so). So the main door it was.

There was no visible handle in her Room, and Stormkrigeren knew from experience that it only opened remotely from a button in the Watching Room. And even if she could find a way to force it, there was the issue that the security system could lock the hydraulics responsible for operating the door if it detected an anomalous opening.

That would have been the end of Stormkrigeren’s plan if not for her two essential advantages: she had doctoral-level degrees in both electrical engineering and cybersecurity, and an incredibly dumb habit of completing any task she put her mind to.

The thing about automated doors was that according to the State of Delaware’s detailed building laws, they were required to unlock automatically in the case of a fire or an electrical fault - and could then be forced open.

The thing about the recently-released LexOperating System Mark 1.4.12 was that someone with qualifications very similar to Stormkrigeren’s could very easily cause something much like an electrical fault in any security system connected to the LexOS servers.

And the thing about having a doctoral-level degree in cybersecurity was that achieving it had led to Lex allowing her to “use that smart little head” of hers and write some of the code involved in keeping LexCorp’s new LexOperating System up and running. So not only was Stormkrigeren familiar with how the system and its servers were designed, but she also had a very good idea of how to use them in all the wrong ways. Not to mention that LexOS just so happened to be the system involved in all the automated aspects and security systems of the LexCorp Research Park and its outbuildings - which, fortunately, included her Rooms.

Her first issue was the constant scrutiny of her computer activity - Doctor Schreyer, and subsequently, Lex could see everything she did via a monitoring application on her laptop. Stormkrigeren had tried not to laugh when it’d first been installed and simply tweaked the software’s coding so it couldn’t track anything she did using the Onion Browser, and occasionally reloading other applications created the perfect alibi for anyone tracking her actions.

It was not that hard to get into the operating system’s main server as somehow Lex’s genius had forgotten to revoke her permission status as a low-level coding monitor, so signing in took her all of twenty seconds. It took her another hour to weave through the various directories of companies that used LexOS until she found the one she wanted.

As a subsidiary of LexCorp, it was only natural that Lex Construction would use the operating system. And like any well-run business, kept all of their records neatly organized and compiled on the online cloud server, practically waiting for Stormkrigeren to sift through them until she came across the multi-level blueprints for the LexCorp Research Park’s various buildings. The documents were not as accurate as she had hoped and had barely any information on the schematics of her Rooms beneath Research Laboratories Building #5, only listing them as ‘Private Storage Units’ with minimal electrical mechanics and security - but it would have to do.

The next step would be to dig deeper into the operating system’s wireless connections in search of the security system portal that controlled the building above and her Rooms below when she was suddenly confronted with the disastrous problem of having what the computer called ‘limited access’. After about twenty minutes of swearing under her breath and taking it out on the punching bag, Stormkrigeren sat back down determined to continue.

Her initial plan was to ‘borrow’ an access code from an unsuspecting monitor - but that would be too complicated, and unfortunately, this wasn’t the 1980s where she could sneak in the backdoor with a Joshua password. Yet even with the technology of the 21st century, it was a war game nonetheless.

A DDoS-attack would be blatantly obvious, and in all likelihood would be shut down and blocked within seconds, but would still provide a decent distraction while she tried to convince the server to give her unlimited access. Orchestrating two attacks (a decoy and the genuine permission request) was a bit of an effort, made even harder when she had to route both of them through multiple VPNs and virtual machines to evade detection, but her hard work paid off. The main server granted her a temporary all-access passcode after she had finally convinced it that she was only an innocent maintenance coder.

To keep her operation discreet and unnoticed, Stormkrigeren allowed herself a short day of complete normalcy after saving her progress and clearing any evidence of her movements from both her computer and the server. Learning, working, and training continued on as usual, though she could not shake the sense that Mister Wilson suspected something when he arrived for another lesson consisting of high-intensity krav maga drills.

“You’re slipping,” he said flatly, his fist swinging close, but she easily dodged the blow.

“I’m feinting,” she countered and quickly gained a strong position to aim a strike at his left side. It barely missed him.

“Nervous?”

She tensed involuntarily at the question just as he landed a punch on her shoulder, though she didn’t let it stop her for even a moment as she shook her head. “Is there any reason I should be?”

“You’re going to be let Outside. Mother is already organizing assignments and lessons for you,” Mister Wilson growled in reply, bringing his leg up for a powerful kick. Stormkrigeren saw the move just in time and deflected it.

“I will complete them to the best of my ability,” she replied evenly. Her teacher nodded and the lesson continued, the conversation deemed over. She got back to working on her escape plan the next morning - this time with a renewed passion for the taste of freedom.

From there, it only took another week of weaving through the lists of indexes and routers and switches, bypassing security at every checkpoint to eventually obtain live camera feeds of the LexCorp Research Park. Being just the humble laboratory of a philanthropic billionaire, there were hardly any watchmen stalking the clean halls - only a few scientists, assistants, and the occasional security guard appearing in the areas Stormkrigeren would have to pass through to reach the nearest emergency exit.

The other advantage of having unlimited access to the LexOS servers was her newfound ability to give commands directly to the system’s script, which basically meant she could wreak havoc if she had the time. Stormkrigeren was tempted to throw a wrench into Lex’s revered operating system (it was amazing how much deleting just a few lines of code could do), but any monitors might start to suspect something if she gave the server too many commands in such a short span of time.

It took nearly every ounce of control she had to refrain from burning the Rooms and everything they had made her down to ashes, but it would have to be enough to simply be out from under Lex’s control before she took her revenge. For now, Stormkrigeren decided to keep it simple and not do much more than initiate an electrical fault in the Watching Room.

Obviously, she was not idiot enough to do it immediately and alert anyone to her plan before she was fully prepared. 

The next week was spent immersing herself in Google Maps’ street view of the surrounding city, memorizing the location of every gas station and Greyhound stop in Metropolis, especially along the route she would have to take in order to escape to relative safety. It felt a bit odd, looking out at the Metropolis that she had spent her entire life in but had never seen - a small part of her wanted to see it for herself, but she had neither the time nor the freedom to properly see the coast city in all its glory.

The focus of her plan was mostly on making her way out of the United States and into Canada, where hopefully she could catch a plane bound for India and quickly disappear into the Himalayan mountains before attempting to contact Mister Wilson. There was always the chance that the mercenary would try to drag her back to the Rooms, but Stormkrigeren had known her Teacher for years and was confident that he would only give chase if there was a price on her head big enough to interest him. She would burn that bridge when she came to it - if she ever reached it. For now, her only goal was a chance at life without Lex in it, and Stormkrigeren knew she would kill to make that goal reality. But first, she had to get that damn door open.

That’s where the state of Delaware’s building codes came in.

Chances were that unless the steel door leading in and out of her Rooms was unlocked remotely from the Watching Room, the only way it would open was if the security system controlling it detected an emergency requiring immediate evacuation of the premises. The two most convincing ‘emergencies’ in this case were either a raging fire or else something as simple as an electrical fault sending the system into reboot.

Causing a fire, though extremely tempting, was a bit of a hassle simply because of the fact that Stormkrigeren’s Rooms were not installed with smoke detectors - if they had, the little things would have been blaring almost non-stop when Mister Wilson was there considering how often the two of them worked with fire in her lessons. Unfortunately, convincing the system that there was in fact a smoke detector in place would take a bit more time than she had.

Stormkrigeren’s other option was an electrical fault. At first, that seemed simple enough - trip the main breaker to her Room and call it a day. But another twenty minutes of planning and she soon realized that a complete power loss would be both impossible and hinder her escape more than help it along. She needed a blackout that would have to remain limited to her Rooms and the Watching Room. Isolating the power loss would both ensure that no one in the upper building was alerted of the crisis and that whoever was watching the Project would not be able to spread the news that she was escaping.

Now, the security system did not accept commands from the LexOS servers to directly shut off all power, but it did allow for the remote reboot of certain aspects of the systems, such as the cameras, climate control, and atmospheric regulation. But if any one of those sub-systems happened to be disabled or disconnected when the reboot was requested, not only would the failsafe coding require the entire security system to reboot to remove the problem, but building codes required the electrical system in her Rooms to shut off as well, preventing a potential power surge. It was so utterly simple, Stormkrigeren was surprised she hadn’t thought of it before - unplug a sub-system, request a reboot, and anything in her Rooms that was connected to a power socket would immediately be in darkness. With the security system out of the way, the door keeping her locked up in her Rooms could be forced open with ease.

And then Stormkrigeren could get Outside.

Despite the hundreds of times she had told herself that hesitation for reminiscence would be a waste of time, Stormkrigeren allowed herself one more day to mentally prepare herself. Mister Wilson was thankfully working on a contract out of the country - she had no reason to say goodbye to him and he would only criticize how tense she was. She tried to work it off by exhausting herself with training drills and exercise routines, attempting to seem as normal as possible to avoid suspicion, yet Stormkrigeren could not shake off the nervous excitement that came with the possibility of experiencing the Outside.

The lights turned off at exactly four-forty-eight AM that night - a bit later than usual, but she was used to bedtime being a highly random event that rarely occurred at a predictable moment. She did not even blink at the sudden darkness that permeated her Rooms, but followed the rules that had structured her entire life and obediently closed her laptop, making her way in the darkness towards the kitchenette to get ready for bed.

The lights in the small room were still on and would be for a few minutes more, allowing Stormkrigern to easily locate the small camera in the corner above the sink and expertly put her back to it. With practiced ease, she blocked its view of the kitchenette’s utensil drawer as she made her way towards the bathroom at the far end - it only took a second for her to find the utility knife and slip it into her training pants as she shut the lavatory door behind her before promptly resuming the normal schedule.

Stormkrigeren spent the next fifteen minutes in the shower, taking the time to wash herself as clean as possible before she finally exited the stall to brush her damp hair and get dressed. Nothing fancy - a fresh pair of training sweats, a loose long-sleeve exercise shirt, and her running shoes - but she had planned the outfit carefully to be something that wouldn’t draw too much attention and keep her decently protected if she had to spend a night or two outdoors. She put all of it on quickly, avoiding her own face in the mirror, though it was hard not to make eye contact when she was glaring at herself the whole time. The silver streak she had dyed into her hair last year had almost faded away by now, and the scar through her left eyebrow was showing again, but she still had her good looks and stormy blue eyes. 

Stormkrigeren opened the cupboard behind the mirror to grab her sole possession - the key-spike that was the only inheritance she had. She fingered it for a long moment, adjusting the wide end between her third and fourth fingers like a shank and practicing a blow or two before tucking it safely into her bra. Ensuring that the utility knife was back in the waist of her pants and her hair done up in a braid, Stormkrigeren left the small bathroom and the traumas that had occurred within behind her.

Without meaning to, her breath caught in her throat as she stepped back into the overwhelming darkness that filled the main Room, but she did not allow the fear to cloud her mind as she moved towards her desk. Stormkrigeren knew she had maybe twenty or so seconds before the Watcher on duty noticed that she was deviating from the schedule, and another forty before they did anything about it - she would have to be quick.

She had taken the time to disable the climate control system by tripping it’s breaker in the electrical box in her kitchenette earlier that day - under the pretense of fixing the mini-fridge, of course. Now all that was left was to send the reboot request. Opening her laptop, she brought up a pre-loaded tab in her private browser for her purchased Greyhound ticket and quickly sent the file off to the unsecured Wi-Fi printer upstairs. A few more clicks of the tap pad brought her to the basis of the LexOS network she had spent the last month meticulously diving through, the code’s insertion point blinking expectantly for her to execute the command that would set her escape in motion. She silently rested her finger on the Enter key, the light from the screen illuminating her face as she took a deep breath and glared up at the Watching Room window.

“No more ‘Project Stormkrigeren’,” she whispered, “The Game ends here.”


	23. The Outside - Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's coming to an end!

After a minute of scrambling in the dark for her flashlight, Lisa eventually found it and sighed in annoyance as she tried to open up the electrical box while holding the torch in her mouth. The Project probably would not even notice the blackout, and it wasn’t like Lisa could contact anyone to fix the problem with the landline refusing to cooperate.

“Stupid thing,” she muttered, glaring at the rows of switches and wires that confronted her, “I’m a psychologist and a pediatrician, not a damn electrician-”

Doctor Schreyer froze as she felt steel come to rest beneath her chin and she suddenly remembered her phone in her back pocket, but Stormkrigeren reached it first.

“What do you want-” Lisa started to say when the Project’s hand came over her mouth.

“You know what I want,” the girl whispered in reply, “When you wake up, tell him that I will not hesitate to kill anyone who comes after me. So consider this mercy and get some sleep.”

The knife was removed from her throat and Lisa felt the butt of the handle hit her skull with a sharp crack before promptly losing consciousness.

Stormkrigeren caught the body as the doctor slumped into her arms and gently lowered her to the floor. She considered tying her up, but that would waste precious time and the older woman was in no shape to give chase even if she was awake. Turning off the flashlight, Stormkrigeren made her way down the long concrete hall, where exactly as the stolen blueprints had predicted, she found the elevator - the only way out of the Rooms. She had been extra careful in making sure that it remained powered during the electrical fault and to her satisfaction, it worked perfectly when she pressed the single button pointing upwards.

The doors slid open with a soft ping and Stormkrigeren stepped inside but didn’t stay long, hopping up on the support railing to force the maintenance panel up. The few screws that held it in place snapped under her blow and she leaned back down to select the button for the first level before climbing up through the new hole in the ceiling out onto the top of the car. It only took her a few moments to complete the entire process and replace the maintenance panel, leaving a small crack so that she could see inside the elevator as the cables tightened and pulled the lift upwards.

It was only then that Stormkrigeren realized how heavy she was breathing and how her pulse was thundering unnaturally loud in her ears, probably caused by a mixture of excitement and the sudden change in atmosphere from her regulated Rooms. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself, shutting out the flood of sounds as the elevator slowed to a halt at the selected floor and the doors opened automatically. Only after she had counted twenty seconds did she finally descend from her hiding place and out into the clean white hall, mentally applauding herself for her impeccable timing. Most of the scientists employed at the research park would not arrive at work for a few more hours, and Stormkrigeren only had to sneak past one nightguard and eight cameras to reach Laboratory Five. Its project file had said something about studying meteorites, but she had merely glanced over it and was far more interested in the fact that the research room was equipped with both a first aid kit and an unsecured printer connected to the internet.

Security had not bothered to change the factory bypass code for the lab door’s keypad, and Stormkrigeren had no trouble breaking in and avoiding the security cameras while she found the first aid kit under a counter. Opening it up, she sifted through the plethora of treatment tools that were standard for rooms where chemical analysis was taking place, conveniently including an instant-cold pack and a morphine sulfate injection. Personally, Stormkrigeren was a little averse to using painkillers when a chug of whiskey could dull the pain just as well without any nasty side effects, but she was in a hurry and it would do the job. She stuffed both items into her pockets along with some bandages and alcohol wipes before dumping the other contents in the trash to take the first aid bag itself.

The printer had done its job and the Greyhound tickets were ready by the time she reached it. Neatly folding the papers, Stormkrigeren tucked them into her bra and silently headed for the nearest emergency exit a few doors down from the ransacked laboratory. There was a security camera aimed at it, but she had no trouble cracking the lens with her stolen knife before it was able to get a clear picture of her, and successfully slipped out without raising any alarms.

The fresh air hit her like a wall and Stormkrigeren almost stumbled as the roaring in her ears suddenly increased in volume till it felt like there was a jet engine rumbling in her head, but she knew she could not let the pain stop her when she was so close to getting out. Gritting her teeth, she mentally went over what she had learned about the area from studying Google Maps’ imagery. The first obstacle would be the thirty-meter gap between her building and the fence surrounding LexCorp Research Park, then there were the three cameras that if aimed correctly might catch a glimpse of the muscular young woman legging it across the parking lot. Luck was with her and all of them eventually turned in another direction just long enough for her to sprint to and hide behind the bush conveniently growing against the fence. Stormkrigeren spread out the empty first aid bag into a sort of clumsy mat, resisting the urge to cover her ears against the noise in her head as she arranged it over the five strands of barbed wire on the top of the fence. The bag was not as tough as she had hoped, but it worked to protect her from the barbs as she clambered over the wall, panting hard as she dropped to the sidewalk on the other side. Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest, but she did not stop to rest and instead turned towards the skyscrapers in the distance and ran like her life depended on it - for all she knew, it did.

Once Stormkrigeren was out of sight of the Research Park, she forced herself to slow down to a moderate jog. Hopefully, anyone who saw her would think she was only an early-morning runner and not bother trying to stop her before she reached her destination. She had memorized directions to a gas station a little over three klicks away, chosen because it had an ATM that allowed cash-withdrawals using only a PIN, not to mention a bathroom.

The noises in her head were getting louder with every step and she struggled to shut them out and carry on. Something was wrong with her eyes as well, her vision flickering every now and again as weird versions of her surroundings appeared and vanished. It occurred to her that Lex might have poisoned her with something that reacted with the air Outside and caused a sensory overload, but Stormkrigeren was able to control the effects enough to stop the hallucinations and reduce the noise down to a low drone, so she doubted it was the results of a drug. She didn’t have the time to wonder why her senses were so overstimulated and carried on running.

The sky was still dark when she reached the gas station she had chosen on the outskirts of Metropolis, but the sun would be up in about half-an-hour and her bus left around the same time. Stormkrigeren slowed her pace as she approached the building, trying to look casual for anyone watching and resisting the urge to stare at the two people filling their cars. It had been almost a year since she had seen anyone new - a year since she had had the chance to even speak to a stranger, and now she found herself watching the two civilians move and speak with rapt fascination. Stormkrigeren felt an unfamiliar and dangerous urge to approach them - not to talk, but to study another person in a free environment - though the idea itself was idiotic if she didn’t have her guard up and they chose to attack. She did not dare stay long in such a risky situation, even if she was only observing them, and instead concentrated on keeping her face out of view of any cameras.

Finding the ATM outside, she quickly signed into her account using an authentication PIN and withdrew as much money as it would allow in fifty-dollar-bills. She had done a lot of work online throughout her life in the Rooms but had never needed to purchase anything, so she had a considerable stash at her disposal - as long as Lex did not close the account.

Stepping inside the station building, she was immediately hit with a fresh wave of sights, smells, and sounds threatening to overwhelm her again, but she quickly shut it out as she moved through the small shop. Stormkrigeren grabbed a large water and a couple of pre-made meals from one of the fridges, then a backpack, a trucker hat, and a souvenir sweatshirt with a picture of the Metropolis skyline emblazoned on the front before bringing her pile to the checkout counter. The tired cashier did not even bat an eye when Stormkrigeren added a cigarette lighter and began scanning the items, only pausing once to ask if she wanted a bag.

“No, thank you,” she answered politely, packing her purchases into the backpack.

“All right. Yer total’s forty-six dollars and seventy cents.”

Stormkrigeren handed over one of her fifties and accepted the change as she hefted the bag over her shoulder before asking, “Where is the bathroom?”

The cashier pointed out the woman’s sign on a door next to a rack of chips, and Stormkrigeren thanked her before going inside. Choosing the stall that looked the cleanest, she put the toilet seat down and locked the door before emptying her pockets.

By now, she had been out of the Rooms for almost twenty-five minutes, which meant she maybe had ten before her escape was discovered and Lex sent someone to follow the tracker embedded in her hip. And that meant she only had five minutes to get rid of it.

First things first, she snapped the activator inside the ice pack and pulled her pants down enough to press it over the small bump on her left hip. While it numbed the area, she broke the seal on the morphine sulfate injector and wiped the skin with an alcohol wipe before lining up the needle, but it refused to penetrate her skin. She swore as it bent skew and tried again, but it just bent even more. She did not have the time for this or to wonder when the hell her skin had gotten this tough, so swearing under her breath, she grabbed the stolen utility knife and the not-stolen lighter, turning the flame on under the knife to sterilize it. The process took a good thirty seconds before she was able to use the blade to carefully make a small slit in her skin and insert the needle to administer the localized dose. The morphine worked quickly while she sterilized the knife again, then Stormkrigeren made another, larger incision immediately above the small bump on her hip. Gritting her teeth, she used the knife to dig out the small disc-shaped tracker, eventually removing it without too much damage to the surrounding area. Now came the hard part.

She heated the knife again, hotter than before, and kept the flame focused on the flat side instead of the tip. Once again she wished she had some whiskey to dull the pain, but gritted her teeth instead and pressed the hot knife against the wound. Stormkrigeren did not flinch as the heat cauterized the injury and calmly removed the blade after a few moments. After wiping the area again and applying a bandage, she hurriedly packed up her supplies, pulling on the sweatshirt and trucker hat while everything else went into her bag, but the knife she kept tucked out of sight in the hem of her pants. It had worked, but she would have to get a better one soon.

Exiting the building, she found a car at one of the pumps with its passenger window open just enough for her to slip the tracking disk inside before she left the gas station, half-hoping whatever mercs came after her would not give the car’s owner too much trouble. Putting the thought behind her, Stormkrigeren quickened her pace to a steady jog as she headed towards the nearest Greyhound stop just over a klick away. She had her ticket already, though security might give her a little crap for not having any identification, but Stormkrigeren knew she would be fine with just a confirmation code and at the most, an eighteen-dollar fee. The bus for New York City left in twenty minutes, and the sun was just beginning to light up the night sky to the east. Stormkrigeren was still not sure what her freedom had cost, but it was definitely worth it.


	24. Epilogue: Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *internal screeching*

The medic on duty had given her some painkillers after confirming that the concussion was not serious enough to earn a visit to the hospital, but the pills did not do much for the dizziness.

Lisa leaned back against the wall outside the door, closing her eyes against the headache as she waited for her turn to speak with the boss. Ever since ‘the incident’ earlier that morning, Mr. Luthor had been calling people into his office, no doubt hushing up any knowledge they had of the Project and her escape with a few small bribes and threats. She had not seen him go in, but from the raised voices emerging from the room, she could tell that Mr. Wilson happened to be Alexander’s current visitor - and neither of them seemed very happy.

“-was not in the contract,” she heard Mr. Wilson growl, “I cannot be expected to go after her-”

Lex interrupted him, his tone dripping with withheld fury, “You explicitly specified that once paid, Deathstroke always completes the contract. I paid for Stormkrigeren’s training for the next year in advance - you have the money, but you haven’t trained the student, so bring her back and finish the damn contract!”

Silence reigned for a long moment and Dr. Schreyer could easily imagine the two men glaring daggers at each other, until Mr. Wilson finally replied in a low voice she could barely make out.

“Call it off.”

“No,” Lex replied simply, and Mr. Wilson snarled in response.

“Then call me when you find my damn student, Luthor.”

Lisa warily backed away from the double oak doors as they were forcibly shoved open and Mr. Wilson emerged, barely glancing in her direction as he stormed away. Lex had obviously called him in at a bad time as the assassin was wearing the full black-and-orange armor that marked him as a hired killer.

Lisa let out a small sigh of relief once he had left and turned towards the door of the office to see Lex standing there, hands casually in his pockets as he stared after the man. He sighed after a moment, finally turning to her with a soft smile.

“Sorry you had to hear that, Lisa,” he shrugged, turning to gently guide her into his office with a hand on her back, “I can promise you that we’re going to get little Darcie back as soon as possible-”

Dr. Schreyer stopped suddenly, glaring at his back as Lex walked a step further before glancing back at her and shaking his head with a sigh. “You too? Okay, let me have it.”

“You can’t keep a trained assassin trapped and tortured underground for her entire life and still expect her to obey you,” she declared in a low voice, raising her chin in defiance, “Wilson’s right. I don’t want to be a part of… whatever it is your planning - whatever you were trying to do to her.”

Alexander’s countenance darkened as he straightened up, opening his mouth to reply something equally harsh when the door opened behind them. Both turned to look at the intruder and Lex’s frown instantly became a blinding smile as he addressed the man standing there.

“Alpha! Just the man I was expecting - I’m in need of some good news. So your men were able to follow the tracker?”

Alpha, being a tall, thin, well-dressed man whose build was not entirely suited to his codename, seemed especially averse to making eye contact with his employer as he nodded. 

“Yes, sir. It was in a silver Ford F-150, heading south on the I-9 when we caught up to it,” he replied simply, “We found the piece on the back seat. The driver required a little persuasion, but he claims he has no idea what it is or how it got there.”

“Tt, it was obviously a decoy,” Lex nodded, “This won’t be a problem. Alpha, get your Hunters. You know what to do.”

The man nodded sharply, promptly exiting the office as Lex turned back to the waiting Schreyer, pressing his fingertips together with a smirk.

“So… that’s Alpha. Nice guy - real good with the moves.”

“I’m resigning from my position,” Dr. Schreyer said firmly, earning a low chuckle from him.

“You know, I was just thinking about how hard it is for criminals to get decent jobs these days. The illegal immigrants in particular, even though we all know how hard they work to stay in blessed America,” Lex smiled thoughtfully. The subtle jab at her lack of citizenship and the overhanging threat was not lost on Schreyer as he continued.

“You just might want to stay on a little longer, Lisa. I can guarantee my Hunters will have disobedient little Darcie back within the fortnight.”

V*V*V*V*V*V*V

It was much colder the farther north she went - not that it bothered her much. Still, getting a coat had been a good idea, mostly because it kept out the wind and rain. Stormkrigeren had known there would be rain, she had even felt something like it the few times the sprinklers had gone off in her Rooms, but this… 

Rain was better than she had imagined.

She often found herself on the side of lonely highways, thumb out for a ride and face turned up to the heavens as the drops pelted her face. But the moment her keen ears picked up the sound of danger, she would have to wipe the water from her eyes and prepare for an imminent attack. The Outside had rain, and that was nice, but it also had people, who were rarely as pleasant.

Stormkrigeren had known the world was full of people - just over seven-billion in fact - but she hadn’t expected to have to interact with so many. They were everywhere - always talking and moving and watching and trying to touch her. Seven-billion people, and yet not a single one of them could possibly understand how much pain they caused her, how much it hurt to look exactly like them but know that she was too different to ever  _ be _ like them.

She almost cried one night. Curled up against the cold in some empty car in an overnight parking lot she had broken into, pent up and exhausted and furious and overwhelmed.

Almost.

But not quite.

She was too strong to cry, and part of her was afraid she couldn’t even if she tried. She was too different.

She had already been followed on four separate occasions and attacked twice (luckily never by her Hunters), yet somehow she didn’t mind as much when the assailants at least put up a decent fight. She bought herself a good knife not long after the first time it happened, having gotten a fake driver's license off a small-town dealer the same day.

The plan was to get to Yellowknife, where she would purchase multiple tickets heading to various airports in Canada before flying to Edmonton and repeating the process. Hopping between airports would eventually carry her across the Pacific and eventually to New Delhi. Mister Wilson rumoredly had a safehouse there, where she could hide until either Deathstroke found her or she figured out her next plan of action. That was what scared her the most - fighting to gain her freedom, but having no idea what to do with it.

Freedom was relative, she decided, a lot like times and names and the sharpness of blades. Despite being free from the Rooms and from Lex’s immediate grasp, she was in no way free of the fear that trailed behind her like a shadow, forcing her to constantly look over her shoulder and watch for Hunters on every corner. She was always hiding - from cameras, from people, in the backs of trucks and behind dumpsters, gripping her knife harder every time someone walked past.

Her only comfort was the rain. Rain drowned out the voices and the noise, pattering on leaves, susurrating beneath wheels on the highway. Rain kept her awake and listening when she trekked alongside the empty highway. All she had was the rain, the pack on her back, and her knife. No, scratch that - she had herself. And she had hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight.
> 
> I'ma go take a nap now, y'all have a happy new year!

**Author's Note:**

> Just for kicks, I have also made both a moodboard and a spotify playlist to commemorate this fic. Both were made by yours truly and included below. Please enjoy and do not repost/use without permission of the creator.
> 
> Moodboard for Project Stormkrigeren: https://app.milanote.com/1JJDND1s5VFy6a?p=cFpaDkusy4I
> 
> Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4cRq4T4QYgsfd64BwWWq3v?si=ghK9_EsHQoqVJPtUAczvSA


End file.
